The Incredibly Insane Chronicles of Clarice Starling & Hannibal Lecter
by sloanwritesstuff
Summary: a never-ending series of random prompted drabbles for the character clarice starling and hannibal lecter of the hannibal series; mostly show based au with novel plot lines ( 3PO & 3PL ) ( not spoiler free )
1. A Not-So Lonely Road

Title: A Not-So Lonely Road  
>Prompt Number: 6<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: with clarice having the evening off from work, and hannibal having no patients and nothing else to do; the pair decide to go for a little stroll together<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter;<br>**Word Count: 560+

-the evening was full with a radiant peach-colored glow in the west; the rest of the sky retained tints of blue and purple. starling had to admit that she found it rather captivating. she knew lecter, who was beside her as they walked, felt the same way. her hands were stuffed into her jacket's pockets, whereas his were comfortably resting at his sides. his stride was far more concise and sophisticated than her own, but it did not seem to faze either of them. she could feel him glancing to her on occasion, and she would not be so shameful to not admit that she did the same. the couple was indeed a handsome one; and both thought so about the other and showed it through the way in which they constantly coveted one another with every glimpse.

- "i'm glad you decided to come with me, clarice." hannibal finally spoke. he never denied himself the simple pleasures in life, nor did he deny himself the things that he wanted. walking with the young agent was something he indeed wanted and found pleasurable, all at the same time. "oh, it's no problem, really. i like this. it's nice." she smiles, taking a moment to observe her feet before looking back to him. a soft laugh is expelled from her at a brief thought which passes through her mind. "i, uh, don't suppose there's any chance of me convincin' you to go on a run with me sometime, huh?"

-the question seemed to amuse lecter, doubting he would be able to keep up with the younger woman should they do such a thing. "hmm, i don't know, little starling. there might be." he teases her with the unconfirmed promise of a potential run together. "do you honestly think i would be able to catch you, should we run?" to that, she shrugs. "maybe… y' never know." now it was her turn to tease him. "no, you never do…" a series of laughs follow from the both in their own measures, but afterwards the walk continues in a taciturnity which both find secure. in the distance, the couple hears various sounds of traffic, kids playing in a park, dogs barking, but they do not break the silence that transpires between them. it's something that at times they get a lot of tranquility out of, and both having their own stresses of life need this more so than they dare admit.

-as the agent lowers her head, her bountiful curls fall to conceal her face from the world. lecter, though all too familiar with the features it bestows, cannot help but to be a little unpleased by this, though he enjoys the opportunity to admire her hair, a part of the woman he idolized and found himself obsessed with—a fact of which she knew quite well. he would touch it at any chance he got to do so, and he took them all—another fact she knew. when they paused at a cross walk, she watched from the corner of her eye as he reached over to tuck the hair back behind her ear. she chuckled when his hand lingered for so long that they almost missed the signal to cross. "it's tellin' us to walk… come on." starling says sweetly, offering her hand to him—and he unquestioningly accepts, a micro-smirk coming to his full lips.


	2. Airplanes In The Night Sky

Title: Airplanes in the Night Sky  
>Prompt Number: 14<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: after the death of paul krendler, starling and lecter have chosen to make a run for it; going to argentina; the agent whom came from a poverty-stricken background gets a taste of a more lavish lifestyle on her flight there.<br>Rating: PG  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>Paul Krendler  
>Word Count: 750+<p>

-the last couple of days had been a whirlwind affair for clarice m. starling, to say the least. she participated in the passing of paul krendler, she slept with a serial killer, and was now boarding a plane with him. with a shove, she managed to get her carry on in the overhead compartment. a breath of a sigh fell off her modestly-painted lips before she finally took her seat beside none other than hannibal 'the cannibal' lecter. for a moment, she could not seem to tear her eyes away from him, a hand blindly going to push away her curls, which managed to fall in her face after her struggle with the luggage. unlike herself, he did not seem to be a fan of packing lightly. "we're really doin' this, huh?" she questions, it all feeling quite surreal. as tumultuous as this was, she understood all too well that things had to be this way; for now. with krendler dead and rotting away, it would not be too difficult to know who had done this—especially if the agents assigned to the case were even remotely good at their job. lecter and starling equally had motive for the man's murder, no matter whoever would think she had perished at his hand. very few people thought that lecter would not kill her, but he would not dream of it, not now. this was something starling did indeed understand. "it would appear so, dear." he spoke in response, leaning in just a bit.

-closing the space between them, she kissed him tenderly. first class was not something she was used to, but her first impression was a good one, putting it mildly. pulling back, she rested her forehead against his, almost like how two young deer would nudge foreheads. her eyes slipped shut for the longest of instants, only opening when a voice spoke out to all the passengers over the intercom; announcing that they were about to take off and that she wished for them to enjoy their flight. beyond that, she did not move—not even an inch. "te amo, mucho, mi querido." she spoke to him in a barely-audible spanish. she was thankful then, more than ever, for having taken it. "te amo, tambien, mi corazon." he replied, gentle-voiced; a stark contrast from how he spoke to most individuals. then again, clarice was certainly not most people. the words, understood by the redhead, made her happier than she had been in some time. she wondered if it was at all pathetic that only a psychopathic serial killing cannibal could treat her with the utmost respect she deserved, and gave her more love than anyone had—even if he thought himself incapable of doing so or undeserving of receiving it. it was not, however, a reflection on her character—but the others. Krendler, chilton, and even miggs… they did not have the first clue about how to treat her. lecter did.

-after the plane had been in flight for an hour, clarice looked up from her reading and watched as lecter ate various types of fruit and drank champagne. he certainly was enjoying himself, and she felt glad more than anything else. smirking slightly, she shut her book before leaning over and biting at his orange before he had the chance to do so, giggling after she chewed and swallowed the small morsel she managed to get. a bright smile followed, acting as innocent as possible though they both knew the contrary was truth. "you are quite amusing, mi leona." he teases, taking his thumb to wipe away the juice which managed to drip onto her chin. "i do what i can…" she responds wittily. "it ain't 'xactly as if you're goin' to stop me, anyway." she continues to prod, reveling in the fact that she could do so and still remain safe with him. "i would not dream of it." a satisfactory hum emanates from starling merely seconds after he spoke. her hues then drift over to the window beside her, watching the sky as they flew throughout it. it was true, what lecter had said long ago, some of their stars were the same. and some of them, they were gliding past right in that instant. when she began to grow tired, clarice could not help but to lean back in her seat—eyes yet again slipping shut. she could tell without even looking at him that he had gotten tired as well. by morning, they would be in argentina, starting their new life together… but for now, she was more than content to just be there, hannibal's head resting on her shoulder and her own on his.


	3. Be Mine

Title: Be Mine  
>Prompt Number: 20<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: valentine's day holds a special place for both clarice starling and hannibal lecter; but only for one another. what does the psychiatrist intend on doing to make her very happy this valentine's day?<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>Jack Crawford; Alana Bloom; Will Graham; Abigail Hobbs; Ardelia Mapp  
>Word Count: 2500+<p>

-february the fourteenth was a day revered as a day of love and romance, and it was something no more different for agent starling and doctor lecter—in fact, it had a far stronger meaning to them than to most people; and would even more so by the end of the day. that morning, clarice awoke in a rather large bed alone. frowning, she felt somewhat sullen by this. she knew hannibal tended to be an early riser, but still she had hoped to see him there, watching her sleep as he usually did. in his stead was a sheet of stationery folded quite neatly, lying on his pillow on his side of the bed. brows knitting together, she slowly sat up and took the paper. Unfurling it, she cocked her head while she read it_. 'i could make you very happy this valentine's day, clarice. and i assure you that this year you will not be finding any heads in jars. – h'_ while most would find this a tad disturbing, she could not help but to let out a sudden burst of boisterous laughter. she was sure it was loud enough that he could hear it, should he still be in the house. however, he was not. after all, he had plans to make clarice happy—and he was very seldom the type to break his promises. "hannibal…" she breathed between chuckles, getting out of bed. she tapped the corner of the now-folded letter against her chin as she meandered towards the closet. after a prior debacle which left their relationship nearly-exposed, it became apparent that keeping some of her clothing at his place was imperative. she sets aside the letter as she chooses her outfit for the day, showering first.

-later on that morning, starling arrived at the bureau in her mustang. once she was parked, she saw lecter's vehicle in the visitor's parking section. "what the fuck?" she spoke in a hushed breath as she practically yanked the keys out of the ignition. getting out of the car she cherished quite a lot, she watched him come out of the building. if he had seen her, he had not made it obvious. Confusion washed over her for a while before she realized this must have had something to do with that letter she received. "what am i goin' to do with you, hannibal lecter?" she spoke more to herself than him—mostly because there was no way in hell he would be able to hear. "um, clarice, you're talking to yourself again…" alana bloom's voice resonated from a reasonable distance behind her. swiftly, she turned around to face the dark-haired woman, head tilting. "doctor bloom, hey." a pause. "i'm not talkin' to myself… what brings you to quantico?" she watches the doctor smile only slightly. "i'm here to help out jack with a young woman who survived an attack by the minnesota shrike copycat." she confessed—it's apparent by her features that she is sickened by the idea of someone putting other people through what abigail hobbs had. starling was too, in her own way. of course, she was not familiar with it like bloom, crawford, and graham were. "oh, i see. well, um… i've got t' go but I'll see ya 'round, all right?" the question is replied to with a nod.

-once to her desk, starling has found no obvious signs that lecter had left behind something, but of course she knew better than to believe he would be obvious about it. setting her go bag on the ground beside her desk, she stood back from it and looked closely. hands resting around her waist, she looked almost like a winged creature with the way her elbows stuck out. a pensive expression was plastered across her face as she tried to discern if any of her drawers were disheveled in any way. they were not. she knew they did not like things uncomplicated, but he sure wasn't making this easy for her. "well, shit!" she exclaimed just loud enough for nearby agents to hear her. they had not quite yet gotten used to having a terribly profane-mouthed agent around yet. with some notable aggression, she pulls out the middle drawer. the first thing she sees is a bright yellow sticky note—hannibal's handwriting on it. _'try again, dear clarice.'_ this asshole sure loved to play his games, didn't he? taking the sticky note, she slapped it onto the top of the desk before shutting that drawer and going to the one on the left of the first. opening it, she sees yet another sticky note_. 'you are getting colder, clarice. try again.' _another slap, another shutting of a drawer. to the right, she went and opened that drawer. a third sticky note waiting for her there_. 'you are getting warmer, little starling. keep going.'_ jaw clenched, another slam, another shutting of a drawer. to the one beneath the previous, and again there is a sticky note_. 'almost got it, clarice. one more.'_ and finally, after yet another slam of a sticky note and another shutting of a drawer, there was the final sticky note and a black box of velvet beneath it._ 'this is only the beginning, my dear. i do hope that you find it helpful in improving your taste, if only just a bit. ta ta for now, - h. ps: i do, of course, hope that you enjoy it and the rest of your gifts." _this time, the manner of which she places the sticky note has less aggression towards it than the ones before, and after only a second of simply staring at the box she picked it up. upon opening it, she found it was a watch—a brand new watch that was gold and appeared to be rather expensive, certainly not something she could afford on her salary. it was much nicer than the leather-strapped one she constantly wore but conveniently could not find this morning, though they told time all the same. inside the box there were no other notes, but she checked—just to be sure. humming contently, she put on the watch and checked the time. nine thirty-five; so much more of the day to be had—and he did say it was only the beginning. the abrupt appearance of jack crawford in her sights brought her out of her thoughts. she noted the troubled look on his face. "i've got a new scene for us. nothing like valentine's day to bring out the psychos." he started, motioning with his head. "let's go, starling."

-he surely was not overstating anything when he said psychos. a couple had been murdered and stitched into the shape of a human heart. at first, the team sent to investigate had believed it to be someone taking a page out of the handbook of a former killer of theirs. even starling had bought it at the time. that is, at least until she got back to quantico, finding another note in her car—it was from lecter. he must have broken into her vehicle whilst she was away at the scene, she surmised. sitting in the vehicle with the door open and legs hanging out_. 'i do apologize for adding onto your workload, clarice. though, I felt it was necessary for a couple reasons. primarily, the organs i extracted from the rather naughty duo will be quite pleasant for a surprise i intend on revealing later this evening. i sincerely hope you find some form of poetry in the symbolism, clarice. do not fret. they were more than deserving of being served the justice they had—they were the un-subs, as the behavioral science unit like to call them, responsible for all those missing children you were talking about the other evening while you were watching the television. i hope you are quite content, truly agent starling i do. oh, i must not forget this; you might want to check the backseat before you exit your vehicle, dear. –h.' _clarice sat there for the longest moment, staring at the letter with slack-jawed amazement. she's surely shocked, and not without reason for being so. as far as romantic gestures go, this certainly was a new one. once she gathered herself together, she leaned backwards to peer into the backseats. Sure enough, there was a box lying just behind the driver's seat. before she grabbed it, she heard someone clearing their throat. "you all right there, kiddo?" a familiar voice, will graham. taking it up into her hands, she sat up—clearly feeling awkward then. "yeah, i'm fine." she was. "what's that?" graham asked with a slight interest in what was within the box. "i'm, uh… i'm not sure." she manages to say. "hmm, you got a secret admirer?" she shrugs. "maybe, i don't know." he gives her a slight smile, not looking directly at her whilst he adjusts the glasses on his face. "well, i'll leave you to it, then." he spoke, leaving her to open the parcel. they were roses of a brilliant red. there was a card along with them. _'these roses, like you clarice, are beautiful beyond comprehension and quantification . however, also like yourself, they are capable of hurting someone should they be handled without the utmost care. i do hope that i will not ever give you cause to harm me, clarice. i care for you in a profound manner of which i cannot fathom nor explain. i hope these and your other gifts make you happy, and that the flowers manage to supply some semblance of color to that dreary office space of yours. –h.' _

-lecter did in fact get as he wished; the roses adding a rather eloquent brightness to the mainly grey shade that was her space in her office. on occasion, she would look to them and smile ever-so-subtly. people asked about them, and she would answer the same—that she thought she might have a secret admirer, even though she knew all too well who admired her. at one o'clock, she went home for lunch—making a pot of coffee in the kitchen she and ardelia shared. mapp rarely left work for lunch, so she would have the place to herself and she was starving—despite the morning she spent looking at crime scene photographs. when she opened the fridge to do her usually rummaging, she saw a salad sitting there, which was leftovers from the other afternoon. however, her attention quickly went elsewhere—the plastic container sitting atop the salad with a propped up note. it was a radiant cream colored plant, gorgeous and tasteful. hannibal—again. she picked up the note and the flower. _'I think this would look lovely in your hair, clarice. you ought to consider wearing it tonight.' _after a moment, she examined the rest of the card to find more writing. her boyfriend, for lack of a more-fitting phrase, had been quite a busy man. _'check your bedroom.'_ Compliantly, she did so—finding a dress hanging from her closet door, and a shoebox with prada heels inside—another note. _what's with him and all these damn notes?_ Picking it up, she read it. _'please forgive the intrusion of your home, clarice. i merely felt it was a small consequence in order to get these to you—and leaving things for you in your workspace and car was getting tedious. i would also love it if you wore these to my home this evening. if you do not wish to, you need not. i do appreciate the idea of you considering it, though. i have no more surprises for you until then, my dearest clarice. –h.' _

-he was honest when he said he had no other surprises for her. she arrived at his home that evening, wearing the dress, heels, and the flower in her curled hair. they all complimented one another quite well, which did not astound her in the slightest. what he had planned, however, would. once inside the home, she could smell the food, hear the music, and see an exceedingly well-dressed hannibal. she was rather pleased; the smile on her face clearly indicative of her contentment. in the dining room, there was an extravagant meal displayed upon the table—candles the only source of light in the room. the centerpiece was something which shocked her the most—a human heart. she was certain of who it belonged to. it had to be the male _victim _lecter had killed, which must have been why he was not home earlier that morning. before she had the chance to comment, he began to recite dante alighieri. "…he woke her then—trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand…" his voice trails off as his maroon hues go to the heart, and she watches with a slight confusion. she recognizes it, of course; what he is reciting—but she does not understand to what end. "hannibal?" she spoke questioningly. "clarice , for reasons i might never know, i would gladly tear my burning heart from my chest for you, if you so wished me to…and i know quite well you would do the same. unfortunately, i cannot give you the very organ which helps me to survive, as much as that idea does please me —but, i am hopeful that you will accept this one? do you accept?"

-she then understood it all, the purpose for all of this—and in that moment, she was speechless. the speech, the metaphors, and the aggravating trail of notes he left; it all came together and made sense. she could not help but to wonder, though, if she would have to actually eat the heart. "oh, hannibal…you know you don't actually have to go givin' me a human heart, right? i mean, don't get me wrong…i love the gesture, i do… but i already know how much you care without all of this…but, i do accept. yes." she sees the smile there on his face and cannot help but to feel a sense of contentment of which only she could bring out of him—this smile is not like his others. it's far more than them. "good, clarice… very good. now, i want you to do something for me before we eat, if you are willing… i want you to take that knife on the table there…" he points to it, and she picks it up obediently—but she does not tremble, not even a bit. "…and i want you to cut open that heart for me. do not worry about a mess, should you make one. that will be for me to concern myself with." again, she is obedient and she cuts open that heart—and inside there is a glass casing—inside the casing a small jewelry box. it took but an instant for her to extrapolate what it was, and she got her confirmation as soon as she opened the box inside the glass—a rather extraordinary diamond ring, of an intricate design; custom made in europe. he was doing all of this to propose to her. and so that evening they spent together, sharing a wondrous meal, all the while that diamond ring perched where it belonged—on clarice's hand. she was indeed very happy.


	4. Complications

Title: Complications  
>Prompt Number: 17<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: clarice is pregnant by lecter, nearing the twenty-second week mark, when complications arise that may alter the pair's lives forever.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter;<strong> Jack Crawford; Alana Bloom;  
>Word Count: 2300 +<p>

-waking up that morning had been unlike any morning prior to this one. clarice starling felt the same arm of hannibal lecter wrapped around her ever-expanding midriff; she felt the same fetal movements within that abdomen; she felt that same sun shining on her face from the window, it was all the same except for one thing—one minor thing. it was painful, the movement—rapid and in a multitude yet experienced before. for the time being, she believed it to be normal. she even thought the back pain was something to be expected, something typical of pregnancy. her mother had the same issues when she was pregnant with the oldest of her two brothers. so, it seemed mundane…but she could not ignore the instinct gnawing at her, telling her something was off. either way, it did not deter her from turning so that she could face the man who accompanied her in the bed. it was not as seamless of a transition as it used to be, but it did not seem to bother him in the slightest. she lets a smile permeate her features when she sees his eyes closed, a grin on his face.

-"good mornin', sleepy head." she murmurs, kissing his nose. he lets out a breathed hum, like a laugh. "i believe it is you who is the sleepy head, clarice. i've been awake for half an hour." he refutes, caressing the bare skin of her back. though he cannot see them, he knows there are freckles there. he adores them, as he does everything else about her. "our child has been moving quite a bit, it seems. i hope she has not woken you." they do not know for certain if it is a boy or a girl, but lecter seems to like the idea of them having a daughter—with her hair, and freckles, and her obnoxious laugh. "mm, no…i woke myself up. i've got t' start gettin' ready for work." the mention of her work always left a concerned expression on the psychiatrist's face, one clarice always spotted. this time was no different. "i really do hope you start taking it easy at the fbi…" there's disdain in his tone as he says 'fbi' and she hears it as plain as day. "i'm fine, hannibal. really." her assurances are not as honest as she would like them to be. she is not in fact sure she truly is as she says, but she wants to put him at ease. he already has enough to worry about without her being another troublesome item on his plate.

-slowly, she sits up and manages to get up from the bed. even slower were her footsteps as she pads towards the closet. she is running out of suitable work clothes that fit her. for a moment, she glances to the full-body mirror not too terribly far away. frowning, she notes just how large she has gotten. she was the same size her mother had been whenever she was full term, she recalls—the memory stored deeply in her own memory palace. clarice, however, is only halfway through her pregnancy. "what is wrong, dear?" a voice, seeming so distant, speaks. after a long period of quite, she turns to look at hannibal's. starling's face is as ashen as ever, except she also appears to be rather upset. "it's…it's nothin' really." she assures him yet again with dishonest words. "i sincerely doubt that, clarice. talk to me." his maroon eyes plead with her to let her walls down, for once. "please?" he continues. "i'm… i'm just pissed about how big i am, is all." she shrugs, the words leaving a dissatisfying taste in her mouth. she knows it sounds horrible to say, but it was the truth—what he wanted to hear. "listen, clarice—you are as beautiful as you have ever been, regardless." he says, and means it. "how many times do i got t' tell you looks are an accident?" her words follow her arms crossing, resting comfortably on her rounded abdomen. "until i can stop telling you that if comeliness were earned, you would still be beautiful." he retorts, getting out of bed. "now, fly on off to work, little starling. we wouldn't wish for jack crawford to be angry with you for being late, would we?" he stands behind her as he speaks, admiring the maternal magnificence that she possessed, even if she could not see it. she reaches behind her shoulder and smacks him in his pectoral muscle. "i ain't goin' to be doin' much of that flyin', asshole." she snips at him, going to the bathroom to shower.

-an hour and a half later, starling fares well in making it to work—though, she is surprised to find that jack crawford was not upset with her in the slightest. at her desk, she sat in front of her computer, rereading her case reports before even thinking about handing them over to her boss. all of the sudden, she feels a sharp pain in the side of her abdomen. she hisses, a hand going to the spot—attempting to sooth it to no avail. alana bloom, a woman starling had gotten to know and know well over the years, was walking by when she notices the agent. she smiles and the redhead feigns one back, but it's obvious in her body language that something is not right. "clarice…? what's wrong?" her words are of honest trepidation, despite how undeniably awkward things were, considering alana was her child's father's ex. "it's…it's nothin', really. i'm fine." she's lying through her gritted teeth. another sharp pain leads her to yelp as though she is a dog being brutally kicked in the ribs. "oh god, clarice…do you need to go to the hospital? i'll take you, if you do." starling shook her head stubbornly. "i'm getting jack." alana says, not leaving room for protest as she jogs off. the sound of her heeled shoes fades as she gets to the office, but the expectant government employee can hear her mentor and acquaintance speak. when the brunette returns, she's accompanied by crawford. "starling, what's going on with you?" he hopes sincerely that nothing is wrong with her baby, even if the father might be a serial killer. that suspicion will graham had put in him still had not gone away, and starling knew this. "it's noth—…" she cannot finish the sentence, gripped by another pain. now even she was worried. this cannot be happening. if something was wrong with their baby, if they lost their child, she did not know what she would do. it would be a devastation that she doubted either of them would recover from anytime soon. "okay, i'm taking you to the E.R., right now." alana spoke.

-the emergency room was surprisingly not as busy as she recalls it being the last time she was brought in. sure, nurses and doctors alike were hustling and bustling but she understood that the medical profession was always a fast-paced environment, regardless of the number of patients one had. the room looked far different sitting in a wheel chair than from lying in a gurney, which was how she came in the last time. "hello, my name is doctor alana bloom—my friend's having acute pains in the upper right quadrant of her abdomen. i'm concerned something might be going wrong with her pregnancy." she spoke, the technical manner of her speech leaving no room for emotion—which seemed a good thing. clarice was visibly upset, no doubt. however, it was not as if she was crying hysterically. she does not cry much at all, even though that moment would be a good time for doing so. "alright, doctor bloom—i'm going to ask your friend to go ahead and fill this out and we'll get her to a bay as soon as possible. i'll be right back." she then dashed off to help a doctor who was tending to a man whose arm had been nearly all the way severed off in a construction accident. she understood that the man took priority over her, and with good reason. it was not as if she were hemorrhaging to death. however, she did see a familiar face. doctor marsden had been her attending physician when she was brought in a few months back. with one look at clarice starling, the woman glanced over to a nearby calendar. it was only the twenty-fourth of march, however the agent looked as though she belonged in the maternity ward, delivering her baby. her due date was not until a little over eighteen weeks from now, early august if she remembered correctly from what her colleague and friend, doctor fitzgerald had told her.

-"agent starling, what on earth are you doing here?" the question was full of mystification and fretfulness. she cannot help but to frown to the doctor before her whose wheat-colored hair looked odd in the fluorescent lighting. "i'm havin' this real awful pain in by abdomen…i'm sure i'll be fine, but it hurts like fuckin' hell." an older woman in a cot not far from where the foul-mouthed ginger was parked, presumably catholic, glared at her. "sorry…" starling nods, looking back to marsden. "well, come on, then. let's get you checked out. i'll page fitzgerald right away and tell her to get down here stat." a nod of thanks follows a whirlwind of events, monitors and intravenous fluids being hooked up to her, blood and urine tests. she was thankful that she was not bleeding, a sign of miscarriage she remembers reading. but then, this raised one worrisome question—if she was not in fact having a miscarriage, then what was wrong? a number of ideas came to starling's mind as she thought over the possibilities, and none of them had been good.

-lecter had arrived at the hospital within minutes of starling's phone call, and fitzgerald had greeted them both with a sympathetic smile. she had been a good doctor, one of the best obstetricians in the hospital, but not in the state of virginia, as she had admitted after a moment of arriving to the bay in which the pregnant agent had been placed. upon finding no apparent signs of miscarriage, thankfully, she made the referral and assured the couple that doctor talbot; a fifty-three year old woman of short stature, but still taller than clarice, and greying hair who had been an avid member of the field for three and a half decades; would be able to see them in half an hour—just how long it would take her to drive from her office in maryland. when they met, they found her to much like lecter in her manner of dress and sophistication. "hello, you two. my name is doctor georgina talbot," she began, shaking each of their hands. she had a hint of an accent like starling's but dissimilar in its own sort. "i'm truly sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but i'm honestly pleased to have this case. doctor lecter, i've been admiring your work for some time—i do hope my work with your wife is satisfactory enough for you." the cannibal nodded, and neither made no attempts to correct her misspoken term of 'wife', much to alana's displeasure—who was within earshot. "i'm sure it will be first rate, doctor. i would really just like to know what is going on." talbot understood and glanced at starling's chart.

-"well, there seems to be no sign that you've lost the pregnancy, clarice, which is fantastic…but i'm goin' to insist that you be sent to radiology so we can do an ultrasound, see what's happening to cause you all this pain. can you tell me how bad it is on a scale of one to ten for me?" she looks between the new doctor and her baby's father, noting the look on his face in which he silently insists that she be honest with her. "um, it was about a nine earlier, but now i'd say it's about a two." candid to a fault, in that instant. "thank you, dear. nurse! could you please escort these two to radiology right away?" the woman talbot spoke to simply nodded and within fifteen minutes, clarice was on an examination table, a blank ultrasound beside her. lecter held one of her hands, it placed right beside his mouth, and by his breathing against the epidermis there she could sense he was smelling her—old habits die hard, it seemed. her hospital gown was peeled away just enough to reveal her abdomen. there's a moment in which talbot pauses, examining it. "how far along are you, again?" she asked. "twenty-two weeks." a contemplative hum from the obstetrician. "and do you by any chance, or does anyone in your family have a history of ovarian cysts or tumors of the reproductive organs of any kind?" the question was confusing as well as alarming. "no, why?" another hum. "well, i'm curious about you, is all. i've got to rule out anything and everything i can. i'm sure you understand." the pair nods, comprehending quite well. "alright, well, let's see what's going on, shall we?" without waiting for a response of any kind, the medical practitioner started up the machine, squeezing a little gel onto her abdomen before maneuvering the ultrasound wand around. a picture appeared quickly thereafter. there she was, their daughter. lecter, being a medical expert in his own right, could see this almost instantaneously. it made him smile, a truthful expression. as the obstetrician turned on the audio, there was a distinct whooshing of a heartbeat then but there was something that had not been detected on previous scans—an echo of a heartbeat which was almost exactly the same as the first. two heartbeats? upon further inspection it was revealed that indeed starling was carrying twins, and the source of her pain had been the twin's second foot trapped within one her ribs. "well, it looks like double congratulations are in order here!" she exclaims, easing the fetus' foot out of its confinement as soon as she could. "you might want to get that one a soccer ball when she's born." she adds with a chuckle.


	5. Crawford Knows

Title: Crawford Knows  
>Prompt Number: 3<br>Requested By: Anonymous ( but i'm totes tagging nxirisms )  
>Description: jack crawford questions starling about the nature of her relationship with the psychiatrist hannibal lecter; will she tell the truth?<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Jack Crawford;<strong> Hannibal Lecter; Will Graham  
>Word Count: 1100+<p>

-there's a moment in everyone's life when one experience's a profound amount of uncertainty. clarice starling had had a handful of these moments, but this one took the cake, so to speak. her feet shuffled along the ground as she paced outside of the office of jack crawford. she was to him a protégé, and a respectable agent who was not exactly the biggest fan of following rules and well-known for her smart mouth. she held her own; she knew he felt that way about her, and only that way—no matter how much lecter teased her about it. she thought perhaps he did this out of jealousy, but she did not know for certain, nor did it matter. as a mentor and father figure, she respected crawford too. however, this did not mean there was no room left over for lying to him if she had to. all she could think of in that moment was that she just might have to lie to him.

-when his secretary told the young agent that she could go in, she simply nodded and opened the door. stepping inside, she was thankful that he was alone. it, for whatever reason, made her feel less alienated. it took her back to when they had first met, to when he assigned her to the buffalo bill case. it was then when she had met lecter, and never again was she the same. "you wanted to see me, mr. crawford?" the question left her with a slight puzzlement which she made no attempt to hide, unlike her accent. he was smoking again, she noticed. was he perhaps giving up his attempts to quit? she would not blame him. after all, he was grieving the impending loss of bella crawford, his beloved wife. "yes, starling. close the door, please." he spoke, gesturing towards it. she did as she was told without speaking, though it did not mean her mind was silent. in fact, quite the opposite was true. was this about hannibal? was this about something else? what did he want to talk about? she hoped it wasn't the former, but again she would not blame him—not with all the scuttlebutt going around about the pair. she tried to end it before it got too bad, but the rumors spread so rapidly, like the wildfire that was high school gossip, it could not be stopped. not simply by her, that is.

-crawford stood to his feet after putting out the half-smoked cigarette. starling stood straight, her posture resembling a familiarity to the attentive stance military officers took. she had noticed long ago, that often their conversations transpired whilst on their feet. she did not know exactly why, but she did not let herself be preoccupied by that; not when there were more pressing matters at hand. "if i may ask, what's this about?" clarice's voice reverberated throughout the otherwise silent room. "well, starling…there's a bit of… er, conflict of interest that we've got to deal with… don't you think?" his response is quick and to the point, his deep brown hues keeping careful eye on the younger agent, watching for a reaction—any reaction. there was none. "um…i'm not too sure what you're talkin' about, sir." she was honest, but dishonest all at the same time. she had a feeling, but was not too certain. she listens as he lets out an audible breath, noting his slight exasperation and discomfort. she knew he did not like to get involved with interoffice drama, made him feel like a principle at a school more so than an employee of the bureau. however, this had to be dealt with somehow. with will graham's _preposterous _theory about lecter being the chesapeake ripper, he knew that if what people were saying was true it could look very bad for the female agent. allegations could be so unkind, even more cruel an entity than taste.

- "well, there's been assertions going around the bureau that you and doctor lecter are…involved." he started, again watching and waiting for any reaction. she can tell he's doing so, and keeps her jaw-clenching to a minimum, but he still sees it. she lets her brows, thin red features; twitch slightly in a mock confusion. "involved, sir?" the question is feigned, but done so well—crawford would admit that, and starling could only hope. "y' know, romantically. rumor has it you've been seeing each other since you asked him for help on the buffalo bill case." she recalls jame gumb quite well, not an easy case to forget. for a second, she feels the stinging of the bullet on her cheek—a memory and nothing more. "forgive me if this is out of line, mr. crawford, but i've never known you t' be the type that'd be payin' attention to this shit." her accent is thick as she lets her profanity filter, what very little of one she's got, slip. crawford's features scrunch slightly as he gestures with his eyes to the swear jar. she groans, muttering under her breath inaudibly as she fishes out a quarter from her suit pants pocket, placing it there. "as crass as your way of putting it is, starling, you're right. i don't, not usually. but i'm sure you can understand how serious this is."

-she did, and if he discovered that these allegations and graham's were equally true, and that she knew what lecter was; she'd be in some deep shit, as she would say. she would be looking to a number of charges, one blatantly ever-present in her mind being accessory to murder—another, interfering with a criminal investigation. there was quite a harsh list of charges the agent/accomplice could be facing, so denial seemed like the only option reasonable. she was sure that if it came to it, lecter would do the same. after all, he had killed to keep his secrets safe. what would a little lie be to him? "well, i assure you i'm not datin' him, or anythin' like that. we're friends, yes. but, it ain't nothin' like that." a lie, a bold-faced, southern-accented lie. while he has his doubts about the honesty of her statement, he cannot help but to smile ever-so-slightly at the accent he had admittedly grown affectionate towards, a reminder of his roots in its own way. "you and that accent…" he mused a moment, before clearing his throat. "okay, then, starling. would you be willing to sign a sworn affi davit?" it was policy, after all this could be an internal affairs nightmare. "um, no sir?" it was more of a question as to why than anything else. "don't worry about it. it's just—the last thing we need around here is i.a. breathing down our necks. you understand?" she nods and picks up the pen from crawford's desk. he puts the affi davit down and she initials it, a lie with a signature.


	6. Double Date

Title: Double Date  
>Prompt Number: 5<br>Requested By: Anonymous ( - ps: I've never written willana before; nor have I written will or alana having major parts and/or dialogue in fanfic before, so I really hope it doesn't suck too bad, but I'm pretty sure it does. sorry mun is hella sorry )  
>Description: hannibal lecter and clarice starling decide to have an impromptu dinner party which leads to a double date with alana bloom and will graham<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; Alana Bloom; Will Graham<strong>; Jack Crawford; John Brigham **  
><strong>Word Count: 2300+

-it was not that starling was unfamiliar with the concept of dating. in fact, she had been dating on and off since before college. however, with lecter she was used to the intimacy that came with the times she spent alone with him. the dinner parties he hosted were not as frequent as people made them seem, but that evening lecter's curiosity towards graham and bloom's relationship got the better of them. clarice was able to talk lecter into a lot of things. it was his turn to do so. she was perched against the wall, watching lecter set the table with immaculate precision whilst she sipped from a glass of wine. she had to admit this seemed like it was going to be fun, a lovely evening in which she actually had an excuse to dress up in lovely clothes—which lecter helped in picking out, though the decision had been primarily her own. "you sure you won't be needin' any help?" she asked, a tilt of her head slight but enough to let her curled locks fall. the evening sunlight which cascaded through a west-facing window ignited her hair, making it look even more like a conflagration than usual.

-she watched as lecter turned to look over his shoulder at her, blindly placing a fork down where alana would sit. his response was not immediate, she noticed; he was letting his eyes linger—drinking her in as if she were a consumable beverage of allure and beauty. she knew how he undoubtedly felt about her aesthetic, no matter how accidentally she thought them to be. she could not prevent the slight blush. "i am quite certain, clarice. you've helped more than enough, dear. thank you, though, for your offer." he speaks eloquently, the accent she'd loved echoing in her ears harmoniously. she hums contently, bringing the glass to her lips. "i do hope they enjoy what i made for 'em…" she speaks before drinking. a bemused sound leaves the psychiatrist. it is neither a hum nor a grunt. it's merely a sound. "i believe wholeheartedly that will and alana would be quite foolish not to, and you know as well as i that they are no such thing." he remarks, a compliment to all three of them stuffed into one expression, but also it could be interpreted oppositely—that should they not like it would make them exactly this. starling had noticed the way in which hannibal had the ability to elevate people only to knock them down again; having had firsthand experience with this. "well, ain't you sweet…" she spoke almost teasingly, letting her accent slip far more so than she would usually. "clarice…" he spoke in a form of warning.

-at the sound of the doorbell, both hannibal and clarice reacted with a turning of their heads towards the door. the oven went off almost seconds after the fact, leaving clarice with no choice but to chuckle. "I'll get it, you just get the food out o' the oven before we go burnin' the house down…" she speaks, setting down her beverage before walking out of the room. "we would not want that, would we?" hannibal called after her before making his way to the kitchen—the main course he prepared smelling absolutely divine, should he say so himself; and it would complement some of the dishes his lioness of a lover had made. once at the door, starling gave herself a moment to make sure she looked alright in a mirror nearby before grasping the knob. once the door was open, she saw the rather handsome couple standing there. they seemed a tad bit awkward, the distance between them evident. they were affectionate towards one another, she knew, but after everything that had transpired for them both, it was understandable that they weren't jumping at every chance to paw at one another, no pun intended. she noticed they did not dress much differently than what they usually would, just a little more formal. graham wore a decorous dinner jacket with his usually plaid shirt and slacks. she also noticed that he had shaved. alana wore a flower-patterned black and white cardigan and a rather captivating royal blue dress. her hair was in faultless curls pulled to one side by what appeared to be a clip. she could not tell for certain, nor gave too much time to be such. it seemed that they had also coordinated their colors, just as lecter and herself had. she found it appealing. "hey, you two! how are ya? come on in." she gestures inside with a notable amount of enthusiasm that she mustered up to hopefully conceal how gauche she felt.

-stepping aside, starling allowed the pair to cross the threshold. she sees how they take one another's hand as they do so, as if to hold onto something stable in an environment they felt least so. neither of them understood fully how clarice could be so calm around the man; no matter will's empathy and alana's compassion. "we're doing all right, kiddo… how're you?" kiddo was a term of endearment graham had established with the younger agent long ago. at first, she had not liked it, but she had grown into it—started enjoying it. "I'm good, thanks." she speaks with a smile—genuine and gentle. she watches as the brunette therapist inhales the aromas of the food prepared, a look of surprise igniting those profoundly blue eyes. "is that fried green tomatoes i smell?" there's an obvious thrill there, glad that it seemed lecter was not the only one cooking. she knew of will's suspicions towards lecter, and part of her was inclined to trust the instincts will had, which made her weary of all food she potentially might come into contact with that was prepared by the man who was once a superior to her in a sense. "yep, it's my mama's recipe, actually. i haven't cooked 'em in ages, so I'm hopin' they're alright." starling replies, her drawl thickening slightly. "I'm sure they'll be great, clarice." unlike most, it did not seem that alana bothered with the formalities that people would with starling, and while at first she was hesitant, she had grown used to this as well. after all, tonight she was not an agent. she was a woman having dinner with her boyfriend, for lack of a better term, and a couple of colleagues who were steadily becoming her friends.

-"you can, um, hang your jackets up on those hooks over there if you're wantin' to take 'em off." starling spoke whilst absently pointing towards the coat rack. when they respectfully declined the offer, the auburn-haired hostess of sorts led the couple further into the home in which she and lecter had had themselves many endeavors, sexual and otherwise. the sound of the three pairs of shoes echoes out, lecter able to hear them surely. "yeee…go ahead and have a seat in here. we're almost finished with the meal, i promise." a brief pause. "would either o' you like somethin' to drink? we've got lots of wines, and whiskey, scotch, beer, coffee, water…" she lets her words drift off, hoping that if they wanted anything it would've been mentioned already. "whiskey for me, please, starling." graham speaks. clarice notices his companion eyeing him sideways, almost as if to say he shouldn't be drinking the hard stuff as much as he does. she understood that the older of jack's protégé's would not be winning sober sponsor of the year any time soon, and felt alana was more than in her right to be concerned. "beer, thank you." the other spoke, feigning a smile as she nodded. "alright then, i'll be right back." as she turned, she could hear alana speaking—stopping her in her tracks. in a manner much like lecter had prior to their arrival, she turns to look over her shoulder. "you look really nice, clarice." the words, unlike her smile, had been honest. "well, thanks, ain't that sweet of ya!"

-she then disappeared to the kitchen to get alana her beer before going to the liquor cabinet, a glass of whiskey for will. "i take it will is drinking again?" hannibal speculated to his girlfriend without looking up from his carving. "yeah, unfortunately. it didn't seem to pleasin' to doctor bloom, either." her lips purse downward in a bit of a frown. "well, i'm sure he will be all right. he's a lot like you, i've got to admit—both of you are quite headstrong." he muses, finding it an admirable quality though one that could make for some head-butting in certain situations, especially with clarice. she knew just as he did that she was a spit fire, a force of nature not to be contended with should one value their life. "you callin' me stubborn?" she speaks with mock offense. "yes, dear clarice, i am _calling _you stubborn." he replies, glancing up—a menacing playfulness in those maroon hues. to this, she sat down the glasses of alcohol before smacking him on the arm. it did not ruin any of his carving, and it left him with no more than a stinging sensation in his arm.

-she was easily the only person who could get away with such a thing, and she knew this—used it to her advantage. "stop policin' my accent, asshole." she growled, glaring at him for a moment before kissing his cheek. taking the drinks to their guests, she admittedly felt bad for making them wait. they seemed to be talking about the two of them in whispers, from what she picked up as she got closer to the sitting room. "here you go, guys. sorry for makin' you wait so long." she said as she handed them their respective drinks. "it's not a problem. you two aren't fighting are you?" alana asked, seeming to care more so than will did. he cared, but he was not so quick to ask too many questions about it. "oh, no… he's just bein' a dick. nothin' out of the ordinary." she shrugs. the couple does not typically fight in the way most couples do on occasion. their so called fights are usually more playful than anything, no matter how many swear words clarice chooses to throw in. they had yet to have a serious dispute. for this, she was grateful.

-no more than fifteen minutes later, the two couples were seated at the table. it seemed both will and alana had taken more of what starling had made herself than what lecter did. she could tell as they were serving themselves that this made him a bit upset, but not enough to comment on it. she was glad. she wanted this to be a nice evening. it seemed he did as well. both of the hosts waited for the others to try the food they made before eating, themselves. "mm, clarice—you're a great cook!" alana spoke, already knowing how skilled lecter was and having complimented him once before; when she was blissfully ignorant of what might be in his food. "yeah, kiddo—your folks must've taught you really well." will added on. starling could not help but to smile graciously, a hint of bashfulness in the act. she wondered if lecter had the same pleasure from such compliments, though he _probably_ was far more prideful than humble about it. "well, shucks, you two. thanks, a lot."

-they ate for a few moments in silence before will spoke up. "so, jack tell you anything about you and i working a case again soon? I know he's got you on that monroe meth thing right now… but i mean, you're one hell of an investigator, and you could be doing a lot better than drug busts with the DEA." this was not the first time she had heard this. john brigham, whom she had met in the academy, had told her the same thing—that someone on the hill had to hate her, based by what cases she had been working. if she were honest, she was itching to catch another killer—something which made her feel like a hypocrite for the simple reason that she was knowingly sleeping with one. "well, thanks for the vote of fuckin' confidence, will...wish more people would be willin' to say that, but they're not. brigham said the same damn thing last week. it's fuckin' stupid." will nods in agreement. clarice can feel hannibal glaring at her, most likely disgruntled by her swearing at the dinner—though he doesn't seem to have a problem with it any other time. looks as if they were both hypocritical. "we could really use your help on the chesapeake ripper case, y' know." there's a brief moment where he glances at lecter, but makes no effort to lock eyes with them—finding them distracting was one thing, but now it was more. he did not want to let on that he knew. that would certainly end messily. "um, well, if crawford's goin' to let me work it, then i'll do it." oh yes, she'd help them—help them get as far away from lecter as possible. "good." the rest of the dinner went on well, mostly in silence—a comfortable one. when bloom and graham left, starling watched them drive away from the window whilst lecter cleared the table. "that was close…too fuckin' close." she remarked. "yes, i must agree, clarice. perhaps getting assigned to the case would be good for us." He admits, pausing to glance to her. "us? don't you mean you?" he simply shook his head. he much too often said what he was thinking, and when it came to her, he meant it. she hummed softly, smiling to him. "want some help now?" she asks, hoping he would let her this time.


	7. Expecting

Title: Expecting  
>Prompt Number: 7<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: clarice discovers some news that will change her and lecter's lives forever; how will she go about telling him?<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter<strong>; Ardelia Mapp  
>Word Count: 1300+<p>

-the sound of a mustang's engine growing ever-silent filled the air as fbi agent clarice starling pulled up in front of the home of renowned psychiatrist hannibal lecter. her hands, trembling with her nervousness, were gripping the steering wheel as she sat there. what was she going to say? the truth, no doubt. however, this could be quite a sensitive subject if not approached correctly, cautiously. she was undoubtedly brave, but no amount of bravery can help prepare oneself to tell someone else one's pregnant. eyes shut tight, she blindly let one hand relinquish the wheel before going to pull the keys from the ignition; only to drop them. "god fuckin' damn it!" she exclaimed in her anger, directed more towards herself than anyone else. there was no one else to foist it onto, not that she ever even would. _get your fuckin' shit together, starling. _

-once she grabbed the keys, she managed to make it out of the vehicle. her pale face, even more ashen than usual, was lit by the moon and streetlights. for a moment, she stood alongside her car, looking up at the home in which the pregnancy was conceived. she remembered the event as if it was merely yesterday, and not nine weeks ago. their relationship had been one rumored about in the fbi's gossiping circle, amongst the secretaries more so than the agents. otherwise, their affair had been truthfully none by next to no one. biting firmly on her bottom lip, she forced her legs to carry her to the sidewalk. after a moment, she could taste blood she had drawn with her teeth. she ignored it, however. most likely, she had grown used to this. besides, she had far more pressing matters at hand. gradually, she meandered towards the door—the path to it seeming a lot farther than she remembered. starling sighed before letting a solitary digit go to the doorbell, ringing it a couple times before the entrance opened, revealing hannibal. she felt herself becoming a bit nauseous, but she buried that—as she did a lot of things.

-"well, hello clarice. this is certainly a pleasant surprise." his remark, genuine in its accentuation, led her to smile—even if she was not the happiest of people that evening. she touches her jean pocket, where the ultrasound photos were. the test, she had hoped, would have been a false positive. however, that afternoon proved her to be quite wrong. their relationship, as it had been so far, was based on two simple things—trust and honesty. she was not about to break that sacredness then. she was going to tell him, and be honest in telling him. she just did not know how to go about it, not quite yet. when he kisses her cheek, where the gunpowder mark sat as a reminder of her courage, she cannot help but to feel herself melt, the nerves seeming to go along with her if only just for a moment. "what brings you over this evening, my dear? do i even need to ask?"

-she knew all too well what he meant; they had made it a bit of a habit to have clarice over at night; quite frequently actually. unfortunately, with clarice living in a duplex with her valued friend ardelia mapp, hannibal could not do the same. she thought it for the best, though. especially considering the fact that she was not the neatest of people, and she did not think he would like it all too well. "yeee… actually, i'm not here 'bout that, as nice as that'd be." starling managed to choke out, her accent ringing out into the night air. hues of gentle blue dart down to look at both of their shoes, noting that hundred-dollar difference in them. when she looked back up to his face, the door was opened much wider. "please, do come in. no need for you to be standing outside."

-for the briefest of moments, the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a faint smile. a gracious nod as a sign of her acceptance, she steps across the threshold. she does not know why, but the act seems to solidify the situation. she does not quite know it this is a good thing or bad. she does not dwell on it much. as she walks into the home further, she looks around and recalls every little act between the two of them. the couch in her sights, she recalls the somewhat drunken conversations they would share, which would lead to innocent touches, then less innocent kisses, and even less innocent embraces. inwardly, she shook her head as if to snap herself out of the reverie. _focus, damn it; fucking focus. _if she allows herself to get too lost in the past, she won't be attentive to the present and the future. she can feel hannibal's eyes on her, as if they're boring into her—drilling holes of fixation in the back of her form. turning around to face him, she swallows hard, takes a deep breath—speaking only when she feels the confidence she needs. "we need to talk. it's… it's important."

-a slight tilt of his head follows a curious expression which forms across features she had grown more than familiar with. a contemplative hum falls from his lips as they part, only to come together again after he licked them slowly. starling observes him closely as he advances towards her, his steps slow, sure, and slightly horrific. it's almost terrifying to watch him walk like this, she notes, but there's also an unmistakable beauty about it that she cannot shake. he was a man capable of bringing horror to anyone, and yet she was not nearly as afraid as most might warn her to be. "tell me, clarice… what is so urgent?" there's barely a foot of distance between them now, and starling can feel the words bubbling up to the surface, jammed in her throat and ready to come out—not out of any form of eagerness, though; more out of necessity. she had to be careful, though. she knew that all too well. "maybe you, er, should be sittin' down…" she started, gesturing towards the furniture surrounding them in the den. "please…" she added, avoiding eye contact for just a moment.

-obliging her, he moved towards a chair. as he sat, he adjusted his suit jacket and crossed one leg over the other in an almost majestic manner. his hands perch interlaced upon his knee, watching her closely just as she is him. she can tell he's taking stock of her then, most likely noticing how much paler she is now than she was a while ago. he's probably noticed other changes about her, too. but, regardless of whether or not he had, he would soon have an explanation for it all—just as soon as she managed to get the words out. instead of telling him outright, she began pacing slightly, hands wringing with anxiety she was not accustomed to. all the possibilities filled her head then. would he be angry? would he be happy? would he insist she terminate the pregnancy? would he want to end their relationship? she did not know; could not know. "okay…" she spoke shakily, breathing deeply afterwards. "what i've got t' tell you ain't somethin' i'm even remotely used to tellin' people, so just… uh, bear with me, okay?" she pauses, looking at him. he nods, understanding as best as he can. the cannibal is concerned, she can tell. "well, um… okay… you remember 'bout two months ago or so? when we…" her voice drifts off, brows rising slightly in implication. the memories come flooding back—the couch, his bed, the shower—the kisses, the caresses, the grunts and poetry of their love. "yes, i recall that occasion quite well, clarice." so does she. does he remember the condom that broke? does he remember how little they cared in that moment? he does not seem to, but with lecter it's hard to tell. "well… i'm pregnant."


	8. Good Old Grillin'

Title: Good Old Grillin'  
>Prompt Number: 24<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: Clarice Starling hosts a backyard barbeque bash, in which Lecter's infatuation with the young agent is ignited even more so than before and the status of their relationship becomes a hot topic of discussion.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>Jack Crawford; Will Graham; Molly Foster Graham; Alana Bloom; Bedelia Du Maurier; Ardelia Mapp; John Brigham; Brian Zeller; Jimmy Price; Beverly Katz; Abigail Hobbs;  
>Word Count: 1200+<p>

-smoke bellows from a rusted grill as starling stands before it. it's a warm summer day and, for no other reason than she felt like bringing everyone together to celebrate whatever it was they wished to celebrate, she was hosting a barbeque. classic rock boomed from the stereo of her mustang, doors opened to let out the tunes. her hips, adorned in short shorts which revealed far more of her pale legs than she was used to showing around the people gathered in the backyard, swayed to the rhythm of a def leppard song. she made sure, however, that the music was not distracting her from the patties cooking on the chargrill. when she looked over, she saw jack crawford approaching—beer in one hand and a plate with an empty bun on it. "cheese or no cheese?" she asks him, head tilting. "cheese," he's resolute in his response. he was obviously surprised. she guessed it was because he had never seen her like this, and that she would even do this. "thanks again, starling. it's a really nice turn out, too." he smiles, looking around at all his colleagues. after the case load all of them had, they all needed this. "ah, it's no problem. i'm enjoyin' this, if i'm to be honest with ya!" she smiles brightly as she puts a fully-cooked burger with melted cheese on his bun. "there ya are! condiments are over there on that table, if you're wantin' 'em." he nods knowingly and goes to it. when the songs switched and nickelback played, most people were highly indifferent to the song, or they hated it. however, judging by her carefree dancing, she enjoyed it.

-of the guests, one she had not anticipated would actually show up was hannibal lecter. this certainly not his scene, especially judging by the fact he was the only one wearing a suit to a barbeque. while he did not favor this sort of affair, he did favor clarice starling—he favored her a lot. he was quite a distance away from her, but he could still have a good view of her. and whilst he does not regard her in the same way most men would, with their tongues dangling from their mouths like dogs, he finds her physique quite appealed. the loose-fitted university of virginia t-shirt she wore, stained by grease and sweat made her look even more petite than she was—and of course the glaringly obvious revelation of her toned legs. he was aware that she was an avid runner, and the results showed. her hair looked so glorious in the midday sunlight. the way she danced was a bit objectionable but she was having a good time, it seemed. he liked that very much. he liked to see her happy.

-after distributing most of the burgers and speaking with various people, including ardelia and, their academy crush who was now her boyfriend, john brigham; she managed to catch lecter looking at her. bright was the toothed smile she gave him before trotting over to him. she was barefoot, he saw after giving her closer inspection. It made her even shorter than usual. "hi!" she greets him, the smile softening somewhat. "i, uh…i didn't think you were comin'." the confession is followed by a blush. "while i must admit this isn't a likely event i would frequent, i felt i owed it to you to show up. i would do that for you." he grins. her toes fidget slightly as she looks down at them, always a way with words. "erm…i've got wine in the house, if you want some." he reaches over, pushing back some of her hair so that it rested behind her ear. "i would love some." with that, the duo disappeared into the house. zeller had been watching them for a time, but he turned to price and bev, grinning. will and his wife were within earshot as he spoke. "twenty bucks says they're doing it." he challenges. "i'll take that bet!" bev said, agreeing with him. jimmy price just shook his head, not buying it. he'd rather be talking about bees, though—not the relationships of his colleagues. "what, really?" molly spoke. she liked starling, a lot…like her husband did. however, she did not like lecter. there was just something so off about him. will had a look of great disdain on his face. he very much disliked lecter, especially with the idea implanted in his mind that he was the chesapeake ripper. he did not deserve happiness; and starling deserved much better. "they are. she told me last week." he spoke up, but beyond that he refused to involve himself in their high school gossip session. in fact, he removed himself from the situation entirely to go check on abigail hobbs. he smiled to her in a reasonably sincere manner.

- "you having fun?" he asked, hoping her mood was better than it had been. "yeah, i guess. clarice is a good cook, though. i'll give her that much." the young woman spoke, adjusting her scarf. as much as she wanted to dig her nails into the thing, this was as close as she would allow herself to itching the scar on her neck, a permanent reminder of what happened. "as long as there's no line dancing, right?" he asked, noting the sorrow in her eyes in that instant and wanting to cheer her up a bit—even if just for a second or two. she laughs a very small laugh, nodding—the pair then joining alana and bedelia in polite and friendly conversation, at least as friendly of conversation as one could have. molly joined them all once she was certain of there being no talk of will's work. she cannot help but smile when will kisses her cheek ever-so-briefly.

- meanwhile, whilst the guests were having various conversations inaudible by the hostess. she was inside the residence with lecter as she was getting him the wine he wanted. slowly, she poured the beverage—almost as if she hoped that time would slow to an exaggerated crawl by doing so. as much as she truly loved having this get together, it would be a lie for her to say she did enjoy this moment with him as well. starling finally filled the glass and handed it to him, a half-hearted smile accompanying it. "have you eaten anythin' yet?" she asked him, wondering if he would let her make him a burger. she doubted, but it seemed rude not to ask. "i could make you a burger, if you want." he politely shook his head. "i'm quite all right, thank you." he takes the glass in one hand and caresses her cheek with the other. "what about you? have you made yourself one of these burgers?" the question disclosed how concerned he was about her. he could not help but to have noticed how little she was eating lately, and starling knew of his worries. "nah, not yet. i might later." she shrugs. "a burger isn't exactly what i want to be tastin' right now…" she adds, blue eyes darting from his maroons to the lips just a couple inches below them. "oh…so i see." he replies, breathing a laugh and sipping from his wine. afterwards, he leaned forward and kissed her. she kissed him back with no hesitation, no room for it in that instant. the visitors watched in silence, an amalgam of emotions amongst the crowd. the only resonance heard was the music still playing on the radio.


	9. Kitchen

Title: Kitchen  
>Prompt Number: 9<br>Requested By: anonymous  
>Description: hannibal lecter teaches clarice starling a thing or two about how to navigate his kitchen, but he might be in for a lesson as well.<br>Rating: T+  
>Character Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter<br>**Word Count: 1300+

-many times had hannibal lecter cooked for people, though it was a new experience for him to allow someone so close into his world as to accompany him in the kitchen all the while knowing exactly what or rather who was being prepared. clarice starling understood this and felt an odd sense of honor being invited to peek behind the curtains, as he would say. her apron was rather big on her, having had to tie the strings around herself multiple times just so it did not feel like she was wearing a bed sheet or something comparable to this. the liver and sweet breads of one of lecter's most recent victims was on a cutting board before her. it was one thing to know what went on in this very room, but it was a whole other thing entirely to be a part of it. she watched as lecter leafed through the recipe rolodex he kept hidden away until he needed it. she craned her head somewhat to get a better look. upon being caught, she pulled away and bit her bottom lip—as if she were a child who had gotten into their father's things without permission. his brows rise in interest as he notes how curious she must be.

- "how would you like it if i let you choose what we do with our… dinner guest?" he questions, his references to cannibalism far less oblique with her in this moment. he trusts her like he had never trusted anyone before. he cares for her like he had never cared for anyone before. she sees this, and knows it, and moreover she appreciates it like nothing else. one thing she had learned from her parents, for what little time she had with them, was that trust was an important cornerstone of every relationship, and if you wanted it to work you had to trust—trust earned through honesty. honesty and trust. she valued that, a lot. to his question, she nods softly before squeezing easily into the space he had provided between himself and the counter where the rolodex sat. thoughtful was the hum that left her lips when she finally selected a rather unique pasta recipe that lecter had not made in quite some time. it was one of his own design, he recalls. the recipe, should it be prepared without human flesh, would be prepared with chicken. the meat, however, would most likely taste more like pork than anything else. on its own, that is. fortunately for the pair, lecter had quite a bit of experience working with the ingredient and could make it work quite well. "a superb choice, clarice…a superb choice indeed." he says before tapping the card against his pearly white teeth; hopefully igniting the memory of when he did the same with her bureau identification card what seemed like oh so long ago. "i was much obliged to pick it." she responds, and truly does she recollect it. it makes her smile.

-setting aside the card, he then shuts the box and puts it away in an almost ritualistic fashion. starling notes this and can find herself respecting the meticulousness. after they washed their hands again, he turned to her—hands postured almost like a surgeon's but different in their own way. it was difficult for the agent to put an actual description to the stance he took in that moment. "would you do me the favor of choosing the pasta for this, clarice? the noodles are in the cabinet over there." he nods behind her, and she turns to open it—finding a number of types to pick from. they all seemed to have been made by hand, which she guesses it truth. while the man was primarily lithuanian, he was italian as was. she is certain that the act is not only more gratifying than buying the prepackaged stuff, but also helps him feel closer to the family he had lost so long ago. she knows that cooking her family recipes does this for her. choosing the pasta was not as difficult a task as she had originally perceived and she assisted in putting it in the pot to boil. "tell me, clarice…what side dishes should we have with this, hmm?" he asks as he begins to fish out some knives for the meat. "yeeee, well…if you happen to have some veggies or somethin' lyin' around in that huge ass fridge of yours, i'm sure i can make a salad—and, um, maybe some type of bread. got any garlic?" she surprises herself by how calmly she discuss this all the while knowing there's human flesh on the cutting board to the left of her.

-lecter laughs at her response, not out of any form of mockery though. no, in fact, it's genuine amusement. she was rather simplistic at times, and not in a displeasing or tedious way either. it was enjoyable. "keeping it simple, are we?" he asks. "perhaps i ought to broaden your horizons some, my dearest?" he does not mean to imply she's inept to the concept of cuisine, but he realizes there is a vast difference between his knowledge of food and hers. he could change that, should she be willing. "well, the rest o' our lives is plenty complicated enough to compensate for that, i'd hope." she speaks in a playful manner. she is content with their banter. she rarely finds herself able to be like this with anyone else, if ever. "i won't be objectin' to that." she continues before looking in the fridge, a meditative grunt echoing from her throat as she lets her blue hues scan about the contents. "what kind of salads you like?" she questions him. "ummmm…actually, i am perfectly content with whatever you wish. though, i'm certain a chef's salad will do just fine…or caesar, if there's not enough vegetables for the other one. as for the garlic…yes, there is a few cloves left, if I recall correctly." he speaks, keeping close eye on the pasta for a moment before waving her to the cutting board. the salad could wait, but the meat should be started soon. he guides her so that she is directly in line with the cutting board, and he stands behind her—so close that she can feel his breath on her neck. he certainly was a hands-on sort of teacher. the purr she lets out is sign to him that she relishes this.

- "okay, clarice…i am going to show you just how i like to prepare the meat…" he whispers against her ear, the rest of the home quiet now the soft classical music playing has stopped. it seems he does not care to and restart the music; he must like where he's at a lot more than the composition. "you could just tell me, you know…" she points out, glancing over her shoulder. "well, clarice, in a game, if you will, of show and tell…i rather prefer the former to the latter. her lips purse inward for a moment, but she lets them go—feeling them become slightly engorged due the pressure. however, this is not where her concentration lies—and where it does lie is not where it should. looking even further over her shoulder, her blue hues immediately find his rather unique mouth—craving it more than the food, admittedly. _damn it, starling… s. _she had to remind herself of what they were doing, where her attention should be. the first admonition went unheeded as her hand slowly reached backwards to touch his cheek—but he stopped her before it got there—barely even touching her. "if you should let your desires preoccupy your mind right now, i am afraid you will have to wash your hands again. it would be a pity if the meat did not get finished in time to accompany the pasta, don't you agree?" he murmurs to her, the accent he possessed tumultuous and engrossing. he then releases her wrist, kissing her cheek as he hands her the knife. beneath the lingering lips he can feel her melting. under his skilled fingertips he can feel her trembling. he did not realize how arousing sharing this kitchen could be until that moment. neither had she.


	10. Live for the Chase

Title: Live for the Chase  
>Prompt Number: 19<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: clarice finally convinces hannibal to join her for a run<br>Rating: PG  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>  
>Word Count: 690+<p>

-the sound of sneakered shoes pounding the pavement echoes in the feet's owner that beautiful morning. the sun cascades across her skin, glistening the sweat which clings to and drips off her pale flesh. a messy ponytail, coming loose, swishes back and forth behind her head. clarice starling has always been an avid runner, going whenever she could find the desire and time equally. she was frequently strict about her exercise routine, and every so often she would challenge herself—adding a mile or two to her regime. today was not one of those days, simply because she was not running alone. hannibal lecter looked odd in track clothes—not because he did not make them look good, which he did; but because she had grown so accustomed to seeing him in suits that it seemed foreign to be observing the man this way. gradually, she turned around and continued to run but at a considerably slower pace. she was rarely ever good at running backwards for a long time, though she would never admit to it.

-"now you are just showing off, clarice. that is not very nice." he calls to her from down the sidewalk. she giggles, coming to a stop before reaching behind her—letting down her hair. quickly, she bent forward to let all the hair out and over the back of her head. she can feel the breeze on her now bare neck and finds it a relief. "you feelin' all right, old man." she teases, tapping his calf before coming back up. her locks found their way back into the hair tie and she moves to stand before him, head canting with a loving air. "no, but really, how ya doin'? think you could go a few more miles?" she was only concerned for his well-being. if it would be best to walk the rest of the way, then they would. he seemed all right, but she was not certain. "clarice, i may be older than you by a measurable amount of time but i am not that old. do not patronize me, please." her jaw drops, a little offended. "i'm not patronizin' you, you dick! fine! you think you're okay for this? then why don't you try catchin' me?" the challenging tone of her voice follows her taking off rather rapidly, making it down to the other side of the street before lecter even realizes what's happened. however, it does not keep him from going after her. in fact, he's thought about the idea of watching her run—and now he gets to run with her. this pleases him.

-it takes him a considerable amount of time to come even close to catching her, but after nearly two miles he managed to do so when she had to stop at a cross light. "fuck…" she exclaims as she pants when she feels his arms wrapping around her torso. her t-shirt, with deep blue letters reading 'FBI' is so soaked with her sweat that the light grey fabric looks dark grey in places. "i will always find you, clarice… i will always get you." he breathes playfully against his lover's ear, even though it truly was just dumb luck that he caught up to her. she laughs, turning in his embrace. "and i you, hannibal… always." her response is honest and true, something lecter seemed to appreciate. "i love you, clarice…i do." he speaks in a hushed yet accentuated murmur as his forehead rest against hers. he's tired but so is she. "i love you, too. and i'm pretty sure i wouldn't have even got you to consider the idea o' runnin' with me if you didn't…" she points out; a valid point no doubt. he smiles; a genuine yet fatigued grin there on those lips. "i am fairly certain, clarice that you could cajole me into doing anything you wanted, and I would do it unquestioningly because of how much you mean to me." those words mean a lot more to her than she lets on. she merely hums in her happiness. "want t' start walkin' home?" her voice emanates quietly from her throat. "yes,"


	11. Motorcycle Love Divine

Title: Motorcycle Love Divine  
>Prompt Number: 21<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: clarice starling and hannibal lecter share many interests, and have done many things in their time together, but what happens when you get the pair on a motorcycle?<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>  
>Word Count: 2000+<p>

-the air surrounding the front side of the mansion shared by starling and lecter fills with the exhaust pluming from the tailpipe on the motorcycle with each time the former agent revs the engine. there's an unmistakable contentment plastered across her facial features with a brimming smile. the face shield on her helmet is up, allowing the cannibalistic serial killer she had fallen for to see this. locks of auburn poke out the back of this helmet, blowing ever so softly in the breeze which cools the otherwise unbearable heat of the midday sun. with one last yank of the clutch, she chuckles before gestures towards herself with her head. "well? you gettin' on or what? if not, i'm leaving without you." she wears his leather jacket despite there being no need for such a thing. even he finds himself without need for it, especially considering his usual wardrobe choices. it's obviously too big for her, but she has no qualms towards this fact. she loves it all the same. his scent emanates from the jacket and merges with the motorcycle's fumes, a combination of smells that she is quite fond of. he is simply standing there as he watches the eager woman perched there. he wants rather badly to join her, but in that moment he is content just by watching her sitting on the motorized bike. "i am, clarice. one moment."

- he takes a bit too long to put on his helmet. starling lets this be known by pretending to take off without him, only to break—having barely moved an inch. she was an awful ornery person when she wanted to be, hannibal has noticed. swift are his motions as he mounts the motorcycle. his arms find their place wrapped around the woman he was undeniably yet unexplainably fixated with, feeling her ribs and flexed abdominal muscles beneath the leather and cotton of her jacket and tank top. he had never been able to resist his adoration for her form, not that he had ever attempted to. a couple times, she revved the engine before finally taking off down the pathway which led out to the gate—it opening as soon as they arrived.

-once off their property, clarice lowered the shield before looked to the left and then to the right. "alright, handsome… tell me where we're headin' off to." she spoke, watching through the rearview mirror as he pointed to the right. turning in that precise direction, she made note of the speed limit and only went above it slightly for a time. she cannot keep from laughing as his grasp on her tightens slightly. she knows he can feel her laughing, but does not stop. swiftly, she turns left before going even faster down the road. the rush of adrenaline she feels is something she had been craving ever since lecter bought the motorcycle. she's clearly enjoying this thoroughly. they kept going around the town, actually not having a specific destination. in some ways, this was better because that meant going by pure whimsy and not necessity. she preferred the former to the latter, if she were to be honest about it.

-after an hour's time, starling found a secluded area to park—dirt covering the ground for as far as she could see, a few dozen dying trees here and there. however, no people were visible to her—neither were they to lecter. gradually, she takes off the helmet and shakes out her curls. the waves which catch the light look as though her hair is an ever-lasting inferno which, like the embers within her, could not be extinguished; an eternal flame comparable to the desire they held for one another. he could not help but to hold a curiosity about why she chose to stop here, of all places, and clarice can see this plainly on his face. because of the vibrations of the motorcycle, she could feel her legs shuddering slightly—having not quite gotten used to that yet. once she feels stable enough, she attempts to turn herself around so that she is facing him, but it's not an act executed without some difficulty, particularly with someone as clumsy as she could be. she's giggling at herself as she stumbles a bit but she still gets in the position she wishes to be in, her arms draped around his neck. only after he removed his helmet did she lean in closer, her legs bare due to the shorts she wore, brushing up against his—which were unfortunately full clothed.

-"tell me, my love; why exactly are we here?" he probes, maroon hues dancing across ever millimeter of her face. his hands make gratifying work of slowly gliding down from her back to her thighs. the flesh there leaves him with a seemingly insatiable hunger for her. for as long as he lived, he doubted he would ever be able to get enough of her. and in his doubts, he would be correct. she bites her bottom lip, feigning a bit of coyness—if only just to tease him. they made it a bit of a hobby to tease one another senseless. "i've got a bit of a crazy idea, if you're willin' to at least consider it." she finally confesses. "well, your ideas are always outlandish but they're also beguiling. so, go ahead…out with it. thrill me with your little notion." he's quite interested to know what it is that she has brewing within her adventurous little mind of hers, and he's quick to be baited by her as well as tempt her to tell him. her mirth is soft yet pleasant as she looks down to their legs, feeling his thumbs caressing her thighs ever so often. not one to be a fan of censorship, when she tells him her idea she's rather blunt about it. "well, it ain't exactly as if there's anyone around to tell us not to… so i'm thinkin' maybe… you ought t' fuck me right here on this bike…the engine goin' and everyhin'."

-there's this prominent lustfulness about her tone as she speaks, and he cannot say that the idea does not peak his own interests, because it does. for a moment, he pretends to be giving it careful consideration, when in fact he had already made up his mind. all the while, one of his hands slowly begins to inch up her thigh, daring to touch her womanhood but bypassing it entirely. he listens closely to the whimper she lets out. used to being the more controlling of the two when it comes to sexual affairs, she tends to find herself displeased by the teasing at first, no matter how thoroughly satisfied she is by the end. he, in fact, was making his way towards the key, turning on the motorbike again before gathering clarice in his arms and bringing her up so that she straddled his lap. skillful hands made quick work of undoing her short. the thought implanted in both of their minds coalesced with the pulsations of the bike began to have their effects on both parties involved. her hands grasped at the psychiatrist's shoulders, tight like vise as his own went to work on their own tasks. the sun steadily dips behind the horizon as his left hand rest at the small of her back, and his right artfully slips into her shorts. she feels his mouth go to her neck, assuaging the flesh there as he feels her pulsating carotid merging with the tremors of the object of which they were making love on. her head falls back whilst his hand works diligently at the task of creating as much pleasure for her as possible. her cries of ecstasy become lost in the sounds of nature around them, but she does not seem to care either way. her mounting orgasm is just within her reach, she can almost get there, and she knows it. so close, but so far way.

-just then, lecter's voice caresses her ear in just a breath. "not yet, clarice. hold it back for me…for as long as you can. it will be worth it, i assure you." the accentuation of his tone does not make compliance easy. but, what if what he told her was true? what if this experience of lust would become far more torturous should she decide to rebel? the possible list of punishments he could conjure up were endless; experience having taught the both of this—in fact, it added to these lists. a groan of reluctant agreement was all she could manage, feeling that blissful release coming quicker despite the opposite being desired most. his hand continued to kneading her clit, precise circular motions bringing her to the edge within seconds of his request. "fuck!" she screamed out, white-knuckling hannibal for a long moment before relinquishing him as she felt her entire body release to him. she initially had expected him to stop abruptly, to not even bother with easing her back down from the high as he usually would—but the contrary was true. he kept going, refusing to slow down even slightly right after her body let go. this caused her second orgasm to build rapidly, a swear and grunt filled slew of exclamations right along with it. just when she thought he was going to get her there again, he slowed down to an unbearable pace. her body shook vehemently with wanton need, hands grasping onto whatever they could as if this act was the only thing keeping her from falling off the motorcycle and the entire world. "god damn it, hannibal, please…" she beseeched in a hiss. "as much as your manners are appreciated, clarice, i am afraid you will have to show me some patience."

-as a form of retaliation, she gripped roughly onto his back with both hands before pulling him back from herself just enough so that she could lean down and nip at his neck almost violently, though it was not nearly enough to draw blood. patience certainly was not one of the redhead's strong suits. he knew all too well she did not possess this virtue, but egging her on as much as she did him at times felt good. to further the retribution, she began rocking her hips against the hand which had slowed so much it was like he was not even moving at all. as soon as she did this, that became true. he ceased all movement in that instant, letting hot breaths cascade across the point of her neck which leads to her jaw. "if you wish for me to be merciful in this, my dearest lioness, you will cease this at once." he spoke gutturally, though there was not a violence or threatening demeanor about it—rather a tantalizing one…as if he was baiting her now.

-"…or you can keep going, and while certainly you will have gotten your gratification out of it, but i must warn you… we won't leave her until you let me take care of you in the manner of which I wish. you had the idea, i believe it is only fair that i get to choose the manner in which it plays out. don't you?" he is only partially serious. her hips do not stop, not at all. "fuck you," she growls, speeding up her actions. Realizing he was going to get nowhere like this given how positively stubborn she was, he maneuvered them so that her back was against the back. very rarely did lecter ever take control like this, as starling knew. but that did not mean there was no room for such a thing, nor did that mean that she would not ever be deterred by the idea. "if i am getting my facts straight here, clarice…i do believe it is you getting _fucked_, as you so charmingly put it." afterwards, he kissed her on the lips—deeply, slowly, passionately, lovingly all at the same time. as a lengthy amount of time passes he finally gave in to his lover, letting her have as she finally wished—which irrefutably left the southern mountain girl panting, breathless, and utterly sated. needless to say, that evening was not one to be forgotten anytime soon.


	12. Paper Cuts

Title: Paper Cuts  
>Prompt Number: 11<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: when a daily activity leads to a slight injury, clarice starling finds herself engrossed in the throes of passion due to a simple yet carnal act perpetrated by hannibal 'the cannibal' lecter<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter<br>**Word Count: 550+

-there's an almost comfortable air to the mundane act that was sifting through the mail. starling did not know for certain why she thought this to be so, but she had made the executive decision long ago not to question it. from the corner of her eye, she could see hannibal lecter sitting in his rather lavish chair, sipping tea whilst he read one of his novels; of which he had a copious amount. he looked almost regal sitting there, she noted. it, like the mail, was soothing. distracted from her task by the man she found intriguing and captivating, starling managed to nick herself with a sheet of paper—her finger, right beneath the first crevasse of the digit, burning with the indication of a fresh wound. a pronounced hiss followed by a slew of choice words brought the incident to the serial killer's attention, sending him to his feet almost instantaneously. her radiant blue hues watched the white and angry injury as a drop of blood beaded to the surface. the crimson tinge in which it possessed was almost enough to distract her from the fact that lecter had taken her hand within his own, examining it cautiously—almost.

- clarice allowed her eyes to go from the cut to her lover's hypnotic maroon orbs and then back again. her pulse raced, heart pounding vehemently within her chest. she swore that hannibal would be able to hear it. it was not because of the cut—no, not at all. she, being quite a clumsy individual, had had this happen before on numerous occasions. that's not what got her, for lack of a better word, excited. it was the intimacy, carnal and dangerous, which came from the manner of which he touched her. slowly, starling drew her bottom lip between her teeth whilst he observed the blood flow. gently, he applied just enough pressure to draw more blood from the wound. this act also elicited a sharp and sudden breath from the agent, thin brows of auburn knitting together in confusion. what the fuck was he doing? part of her wondered if she should even ask.

-the seconds seemed to pass like hours before she finally got her answer. always elegant in his movements—something she had noted long ago—he bent down to the wound; her facial features contorting just slightly as she observed. she saw and felt his mouth find its place on that wound, cleaning the blood from there with an expert tongue. she could tell by the way his hands clutched her wrist and hand that he was certainly enjoying it. she could not bring herself to mind it. in fact, it seemed her body was reacting in quite an opposing manner. a rush of serotonin and adrenaline filled her, along with an unmistakable amount of arousal. her free hand, trembling and aimless, found itself a place to rest at the nape of lecter's neck. her head fell back, curls like flames crashing down her back. eyelids slowly fluttered shut, the last thing seen by the organs beneath them being the ceiling. from her throat, she heard the sound of her own voice moaning—though, once she caught herself she made no attempt in silencing the sounds. "hannibal…" she moaned breathily, reminding herself then that she ought to get paper cuts more often.


	13. Session

Title: Session  
>Prompt Number: 15<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: clarice has had a long and tedious day at work, and hopes that by making a special visit to doctor lecter's office she can alleviate her boredom as well as take care of him; but neither of them count on their little session to be interrupted.<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; Margot Verger; <strong>  
>Word Count: 1700+<p>

-that day, for all intents and purposes, had been like any other day for clarice starling. she had spent most of the day doing paperwork on a case she recently closed with the aid of crawford, zeller, price, katz, and the empathic investigator will graham. it was, to her, awfully tedious and if she were to be honest, she was definitely craving something with a lot more excitement. this was indeed a need she could sate with the help of renowned psychiatrist hannibal lecter. the drive from quantico to baltimore was far too slow for her liking, but she managed to make it there in good time despite the after-work traffic. from her vehicle, she jogged up to where she knew he would be. his last patient's appointment was just wrapping up, as she could tell from the manner of which an unfamiliar face of a woman-arm in a sling-exited as she approached. once to the door of his office, she knocked thrice—waiting with what little fortitude she could muster. when the door opened, revealing the pristinely-garmented cannibal, she smiled. "hey there!" she greeted with much enthusiasm. it did not take a genius to figure out she was excited to see him. "well, hello clarice. i must admit i was not expecting to see you this evening. would you like to step inside?" she watches as he gestures into the parlor with an almost dramatic air about him. "i'd be much obliged," she replied with honesty, her intonation thick.

-with her own level of grace, she slipped past him and meandered around the office. she allows her eyes to scan over every little spot, her mind spinning with ideas that were a little less than puritanical. as she makes it over to his desk, starling perches herself against it. leaning back probably more so than was necessary, she tosses her hair back some—eyes closely observing the good doctor before her. as she watches his eyes drink her in and a moist tongue darting over full lips, she grins. it's clear that she's got his attention—luring him in being her motive, shamelessly. "as much as i do enjoy your impromptu visits, agent starling…i have to confess that you have me curious. what brings you here?" he questions her, advancing towards the redhead a few steps after shutting the door. "you'll just have to wait and see, doctor lecter." she teases, tugging at her bottom lip with much consideration. "how 'bout you go back to that door over there for me, hmm? pretty please?" she continues, leaving no room for further queries.

-the sound of her words echoes in his ears and she finds a thrilling sensation in watching him obediently do as she said. he stood at the door, barely an inch away from it. "when was the last time someone took care o' you, doctor lecter?" the words leave her with a seductive nature to that all too alluring southern twang. his head tilts as his brows furrow. she was not being entirely clear about what she was getting at, but lecter could certainly make a few hypotheses, the list ever dwindling as he notes the lust in her cerulean blue hues. "if i am following you correctly, clarice—then i would say monday, when you came by my home during your lunch break." he pauses, and she can tell by the longing in his maroons that the two days that had passed since were far too long. "do you intend on taking care of me, clarice?" he keeps saying her name, starling notes. she discovered long ago that it seems a delight for him to have the privilege of saying it, and does indeed wear it out. "oh yes, hannibal… i do. i plan on takin' real good care o' you." a pause as she pushes herself up from the desk. "but, only if you do what i tell you first."

-she was not like other people who had a relationship with lecter, no matter how few and far between they had been. she liked to take control of him. she knew what he was and was not afraid. if anyone was afraid of anyone, it was the other way around. this was something both of them were aware of, and it would be a lie for the young agent to say she did not use it to her advantage. as she approaches him, lecter goes back into the door—and she can tell that he is excited. her shining eyes peruse his entire form, enjoying the view. "take off your tie." the statement is sudden, but to the point. there was no longer any room for subtleties. she studies him as his hands make effortless work of removing the patterned article of clothing. once he pulled it from his neck, she took it from him and tossed it tactlessly over her shoulder. "clarice…" he begins to protest, but she's having none of it. "ah, ah, ah… no." the redhead chastises, pressing her index finger to his lips. "now, you've only got two options here, doctor lecter—one: i take off the rest of your clothes, and i do it my way. two: you take off your clothes, and you do it the way i'm tellin' you to. either way, things are goin' my way if you want anythin' good to come of all o' this." spending her days subservient to men in the bureau; it felt good to have somewhere to take control, to dominate, to get what she wanted.

-she watches him closely as he swallows, noting the erection he was starting to get. an almost evil smirk plasters itself upon her lips, arms crossing just beneath her breasts. "what's it goin' to be, hannibal?…i wouldn't be takin' too long t' answer if you want me to take care of ya." she continues, head canting. her lengthy locks fell right along with it, the sunlight streaming in from the window making it look even more extravagant. "something tells me i should choose option one." he finally replies. if he was capable of feeling regret, he probably would feel it later on due to the slight decrease in his wardrobe selections. "mm, thanks." she murmurs before stepping closer. grasping at the lapels of his jacket, she yanks him forward a bit only to slam him back into the door more roughly than her form would suggest she was capable of. after all, he had a good seven inches and eighty-five pounds on her, at least. but she was quite a strong little agent, and hannibal knew this—valued this, along with everything else about her.

-her lips crashed into his vehemently whilst her hands hastily went about removing his jacket. it too found itself on the floor after being tossed over her shoulder. her hands then moved to his shoulders, keeping him pinned there as best as she could whilst standing on the front halves of her feet. she was almost on the tips of her toes in that moment. reluctantly, she brought herself back onto her feet solidly and when lecter tried to move away from the door to continue the kiss, she shoved him back into it, shaking her head. .her fingers then yanked his shirt out from his pants so that it was no longer tucked in, oh so tempted to just tear it off right then and there. however, she showed some semblance of restraint. two handfuls of the shirt allowed her to tug him backwards from the entryway and then she shoved him down onto the couch—straddling him soon after. "seems like our _session _is gettin' off to a very good start, doctor lecter. wouldn't you agree?" starling's enjoying this teasing far too much, or at least that's what she believes hannibal thinks. he does not respond with words, just a needy grunt—her hips are dangerously close to his arousal, and his yearning is unfathomably strong. "i'll be takin' that as a yes." she smirks, lips finding their way to his ear. she nips at the earlobe before moving down to his neck. for the longest time, she allows herself to assuage that flesh there—pulling back after several moments. she is indeed surprised when his own mouth latches on to the same spot on her own neck, and even more so at herself when she does not try to stop him. her eyes slipped shut, allotting a period of time for self-indulgence before pushing him back and kissing him, lips crashing against lips—the collision is almost cosmic. her hips torment him, moving against his erection through their clothing. she listens as he pleads with her, but it all comes to an abrupt stand still when there's a knocking on the door. "what the fuck?!" starling hissed, clearly upset. "it seems we will have to continue our _session_, later, clarice." he whispers against her jawline, face hidden in her hair. "or we can just ignore 'em 'til they go away?" she suggests, her tone low. "oh, clarice, that would be quite rude." he replies.

-the pair take a little while to get themselves together, clarice seated on the couch with her legs crossed and hannibal seated behind his desk—clearly uncomfortable. "you may come in…" he announces, his voice gruff with desire no matter how much he tries to bury it. his lover was more than shocked to see the unfamiliar face from earlier. it's safe to say that he is as well. "hey, doctor lecter. i hope i'm not being intrusive, but i believe i forgot my keys here." they were on the table beside the chair in which she almost always sat if she was not standing. grabbing them, she looked between the two—how flushed they looked, how some of lecter's hair was out of place. it did not take her long at all to figure out what was going on. "oh, i guess i'm being very intrusive. i'm sorry. i'll just, uh… get out of your hair." margot verger was a woman who enjoyed the company of other women quite a bit, so when she noticed the woman lecter was enjoying the company of she could not help but to be impressed. she was as glad as she could manage to feel, considering her life's situations. he had been quite helpful to her, and he had every right to be happy—and to get laid. "you two have fun…" she spoke as she left. "see you friday afternoon, ms. verger." when the pair was once again alone, there was a lengthy silence before suddenly all self-resistance was lost on clarice—leaving her to a fit of laughter.


	14. Under Oath

Title: Under Oath  
>Prompt Number: 1<br>Requested By: anonymous  
>Description: clarice starling is asked to testify on behalf of will graham and jack crawford in their care against lecter—accusing him of being the chesapeake ripper. will she tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? or will she lie under oath?<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; Will Graham; <strong>Jack Crawford; Freddie Lounds; Brian Zeller;  
>Word Count: 1500+<p>

-'agent starling, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?" the question resounded throughout the entire court room, the redhead standing there with one hand on a bible and the other raised in the air as she swore an oath. starling felt almost filthy standing there. not only did the idea of swearing to a god she did not wholeheartedly believe in make her feel wrong, but she also knew that most likely her responses would not be truthful. regardless of this, she spoke—a resolute nod accompanying her words. "i do." taking the stand at a trial that could put her beloved behind bars for a lifetime, the young agent grasped at the sleeves of her jacket. the act was hidden, unlike her eyes drifting right to lecter. they soon left him to go to the district attorney, her lips neither smiling nor frowning. in all honesty, she could do neither. "agent starling, do you know why you've been called to testify?" the short-haired woman asked. _what kind of stupid fuckin' question is that? of course i know! is this woman inept? _"yes; i'm here because mr. crawford and mr. graham want me to go on the record sayin' that hannibal lecter is a killer and a cannibal." she replies. this response is honest, unlike what a majority of the rest would be. "very good, thank you. tell me, do you believe hannibal lecter is as will graham and jack crawford say? do you think he's a killer?" she asks, her footsteps echoing with each one of her movements. she can feel everyone's eyes boring into her with the anticipation of her answer.

-she lets her eyes pan from those she had worked with to the one she loved and knew all too well. "no, i don't believe he's a killer. i believe that crawford and graham want so badly to solve this case that they'll pin the chesapeake ripper label onto the closest person who fits. apparently, they're thinkin' that person's doctor lecter." she was keeping calm, her face remaining without emotion. she was not the best of liars out there, and this certainly was not easy. however, she would manage this for him—she would do anything for him. she can see jack's face turning angry, and graham pinching the bridge of his nose. "and you don't agree?" she asks. "of course not, ma'am…" she bites her tongue as is attempting her best to remain civil, though she knows she's just trying to get her slip up in any way she can. "they've got evidence that's highly circumstantial at best that supports their claims. if you put lecter behind bars, you'll be lettin' an innocent man rot while the real killer goes 'round doin' the same shit he's been doin' for god knows how long." the judge clears his throat in response to her swearing. "sorry, sir. _things_." crawford's swear jar was one thing, but complete censorship like this was ludicrous to her. "ms. starling…" the district attorney starts. "agent!" she interrupts with the correction. "forgive me… agent starling, how long have you been under the employment of the fbi?" the question seemed harmless enough, but it was going nowhere good. "three and a half years, ma'am." she nods in response to the answer, a lengthy pause before her next question. "—and how long have you been _under _doctor lecter?" the question was certainly a brow-raiser for the entire court room. the rudeness of her accusation was enough to make lecter's lips fall open, looking as appalled as if someone had punched her right in the face. the d.a. might as well have.

-the defense attorney stood to his feet instantaneously. "objection, your honor! the counselor is way out of line!" he speaks, and the judge seems to agree. "either change your approach, counselor, or i will hold you in contempt. i will not have my court room turned into a jerry springer episode, got it?" the judge's voice booms throughout the room. "yes, your honor." a breath. "what is the nature of your relationship with doctor lecter?" the wayward agent's response is almost immediate, sounding a bit more rehearsed than she would have liked. "he's helped me on cased before, and i'm a friend. there's nothin' more to it than that." she insists. the hum counselor jarvis makes is that kind of thoughtful sound that is so annoying it gets under your skin and does not come out. "so, he helped you out and you two became friendly?" she asked, index finger to her chin. "yes, that's what i said." _listen here, you fuckin' bitch… don't talk to me like i'm an idiot! _ "hmm, interesting. exactly how friendly were you? coffees before work? Lunches together…? 'accidently' falling asleep at his place one night and showing up to work the next day in his clothes?" the defense, mr. warren, wanted rather badly to object but jarvis did not seem to let him get a word in edge wise, or clarice for that matter. though, unlike the lawyer, it did not keep her from speaking. "it wasn't like that, at all!" the words were barely heard, even by the stenographer. "your honor, i present to the jury exibit b54—an anonymous tipster sent a really interesting tape to Mr. Graham when they found out who he was investigating." it took lecter and starling merely seconds to guess who this supposedly anonymous tipster was. lounds. Their suspicions were confirmed when the redheads locked eyes. the journalist was sitting in the back of the room, the smuggest of grins plastering across her features. starling knew of the tape, but she had no idea who was behind it. lounds was certainly not anywhere close to making the list of either the suspect or the accomplice's favorite people. in fact, starling despised lounds almost as much as she did chilton, mason, and krendler. perhaps zeller should have been more careful with what he told her?

-a bailiff rolled in a monitor, which would have had solid evidence that starling's testimony would be extremely compromising on account of a highly personal relationship with one another. too bad for jarvis and lounds that before she got into the court room, starling switched the tape. _sorry, freddie. i'm not allowin' this to happen. the world will not be this way within the reach of my arm. _when jarvis pressed play, she waited to see the video she had watched a handful of times but was more than shocked to find that it was nothing more than an exercise regime tape on how to get 'buns of steel'. it took everything within the agent not to laugh, but pretty much everyone else was hysterical—except for hannibal lecter, whose expression, aimed at starling, was clearly prideful. this was just further validation that he was right in trusting her with this, even though he knew it all along. the sound of an infuriated gavel slamming down broke through the hysteria that was the laughter. "order in the court! order!" he exclaimed, and only moments later did everyone silence. jarvis was clearly humiliated. this could be a career killer if she did not do some serious damage control. "your honor, i had no idea how that tape got switched!" she insisted. "i'm sorry, counselor, but i'm having a hard time believing there was ever a tape to begin with. please dismiss this pathetic excuse of evidence from the record." he spoke, feeling a deep shame for what the judicial branch had become. warren then took the opportunity to stand. "your honor, i'd like to motion for a mistrial on the grounds that there is no known credible evidence incriminating my client." he said, straightening his tie thereafter. "unless the district attorney has more workouts to show us, i'm going to second this motion. court dismissed." a bang of the gavel led to the leaving of quite a few people. the only ones left were lecter, warren, graham, crawford, and starling. even lounds and jarvis had left. graham and crawford both approached starling as she stepped down from the stand,. meanwhile, she could see lecter and his lawyer shaking hands. "how could you do this, starling? we had him, and you'd have been a damn good testimony if you weren't fucking around with him!" graham spoke, his hatred for lecter clear as day in his uniquely colored eyes. "mr. graham, i respect you a lot i do, and i hope that you can get the chesapeake ripper—but i did nothin' run…and neither did doctor lecter. please, just… stop lookin' for answers where there aren't none." with that, she goes over to lecter. she could not even bare to look at crawford, he was pissed—as well he should be. once she was out of ear shot of both of the other men, she whispered to lecter. "so, you want to go somewhere and do somethin'?" she asked him, smiling softly to him as she made their way to the exit. "i would be most honored, clarice."


	15. We Don't Like Easy

Title: We Don't Like Easy  
>Prompt Number: 13<br>Requested By: anonymous  
>Description: clarice has grown a taste for blood; vengeance through a form of justice she could have never sought while under the employment of the fbi; when she finds herself and lecter a new target, the pair revisit the revelation that neither of them like things simple.<br>Rating:M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter;<strong>  
>Word Count: 990+<p>

-there was a sickening pleasure clarice undeniably found in this. it was never something she got from her time in the fbi. of course, there were times where justice in fact prevailed, however it was not nearly as frequent as this methodology's. the success rate greatly outweighed the bureau's, and left the pair with satisfied hungers. justice and people served, all in one act. after all, everyone dies—and if anyone was deserving of it, it would be the people she aided lecter in killing. however, they never had ever gone after this kind of target before. it was, like them both, dangerous to do this. but it had to be done, didn't it? he was high profile, to say the least. sitting at lecter's desk, her laptop open before her in the otherwise dark room. the glow of the laptop illuminated her features, blueish and white tones making her flesh look as if it were the ghostliest colors ever imagined. anger pierced her features as she looked at the web page open before her.

-senator brian philips had been a member of the legislative branch for some time. he was from west viriginia, like herself. that was where the commonalities ended. he had been married thrice; and each time he would beat his wives to the point that they could no longer tolerate him. he recently married again; last year to be precise. The beatings did not last nearly as long as the prior ones, for, despite him being nearly fifty, he had managed to pulverize her to death. this was what put him on starling's so called radar. if there were any kind of people she truly despised, it was rapists (of any capacity) and wife-beaters. according to mrs. philips number four's autopsy, the senator was both. she did not seem to notice lecter walk in, or if she had she was so consumed by her fury towards this man that she did not make it known. he would be able to see in the light from the computer that she was snarling, like a lioness ready to attack.

-"clarice…?" his voice echoed out, which seemed to get her attention off the screen, if only just for a moment. "i take it you have found us someone to have for dinner?" she watches his head incline as he questioned her. she can only nod, too furious to speak. there's a notable fire in her eyes which she got in times such as these. while lecter finds himself thinking more than feeling-should any of his feelings outside those for her be genuine-he understands and appreciates how starling is driven by her emotions, her need for people such as the senator to pay for what they've done. he was probably the only exception to this moral compass etched within the female, but then again not even he knew for sure about this. "how naughty has this one been, my dear?" there's an audible heavy breathing from the auburn-haired woman and she's fairly sure that he can tell how fumed she is.

-"he's been more than fuckin' naughty, hannibal. god damn it, this piece of shit…" her fists clench, rage unmanageable by any means. "this sick bastard has been married four times, _four fucking times_ and he's beaten each and every one of his wives. the last one, he killed her… for no reason other than drunken rage because she wouldn't 'put out'. and guess fucking what?! guess what the fuckin' god damn government did about it? guess? i'm sure you'll get it right!" it may seem she's irate at lecter, but by no means is she. she's pissed at the government in which she served for, she's pissed at the man who did this to four innocent women. for a moment he does not speak, he just stands there and watches her. he was almost humored by the idea of smoke coming out of her ears. that's how upset she was. "well, _agent starling_…i am assuming by your reaction that the justice system did very little if anything about it." he replied after a pregnant pause. "they let that motherfuckin' cocksucker walk! they said it was because of a technicality but we all fuckin' know the truth! he gets to buy everyone off so he can walk free! this is so fucked up!"

-he would be lying if he said that he had heard clarice starling swear this much in one solid breath. sure, she swore a lot but this was an access he had not been able to predict. it was even worse than her reaction to jorge mendoza, a man they had killed for the molestations and deaths of several young girls. perhaps they could have a pork roast this time, too. serve him up like the revolting imbecile he was. "clarice, do you wish for us to kill him?" he asks, his voice considerably calmer than hers. it somewhat annoyed her that he did not get as visibly angry as she did, no matter how well she understood him. "do i wish to kill 'im? i want to make him suffer! i want him to die a brutal and bloody death, just like his wife. i want 'im to know he ain't as un-fuckin'-touchable as he thinks he is." she can tell by the spark of response in his eyes that he was both terrified by her words, but impressed as well; perhaps even aroused. "he's quite high profile, clarice…you must realize this is going to be rather difficult for us to pull off." he steps closer to her as he speaks, closing the space between them with just a few strides. she looks up at him, blues and maroons locking as a moment passes before she replies. "well, we don't like easy do we?" her question is full of a challenging air that lecter cannot ignore, not that he would want to. "the evidence would suggest as much." he smirked, untainted evil evident in the manner of which he spoke.


	16. You're Cordially Invited To

Title: You're Cordially Invited To…  
>Prompt Number: 12<br>Requested By: anonymous  
>Description: you're cordially invited to attend dinner at the residence of hannibal lecter, only he's not hosted this party alone. the fbi's brand new shining star is there to aid in the hosting of the event, only there's far more to it than one might think.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; Jack Crawford<strong>; Alana Bloom; Bedelia Du Maurier; Will Graham; Molly Foster Graham  
>Word Count: 1000+<p>

-"nothing here is vegetarian." starling hears the all too familiar accented voice speak to the others in the room. a glass of wine is comfortably perched within her hand, slowly sipping from it as she listens. she is also watching the guests rather closely. the home she has grown to know as if it were the back of her hand is full of smiling guests, dressed to the nines just as she is herself. the agent is beginning to understand quite well now the almost sickening joy hannibal lecter finds in watching the unsuspecting consumers of human flesh of which he prepared. curious hues then find him, giving him an all knowing smirk. there was something so incredibly intimate about being let into his world like this, like she had done with him. it felt right, no matter how wrong she knew it truly was. a content sigh falls almost silently from her lips, unheard over the friendly chatter and classical music. starling then begins to walk throughout the people, the heels on her feet clacking slightly along the floor as she moves. there's a grace about her movements, though it's somewhat forced in that she had not been used to this sort of scene before—but she would get used to it, and do so gladly. most of the people there she did not know at all, but there were a few familiar faces as well. she did not know for sure whether or not to find this a relief.

- jack crawford, her mentor and a man she thought of as a father figure she had been without for so long, was there, and so were alana bloom and bedelia du maurier; will graham and his wife, molly had even managed to come. as she made her way towards crawford, she allowed one of the staff working for hannibal that evening to take her empty glass. "hey, mr. crawford. yeee, i didn't think you were comin'." she admits to him, her southern accent rather unique amongst the typically posh-like crowd. "well, dr. lecter was kind enough to give me an invitation." he responds, taking a moment to admire starling. she could tell by the way he looked at her that he was impressed with just how phenomenal she could look once she got out of work clothes. "well, i've got to say starling, you look as pretty as a penny when you get cleaned up." he continues, complimenting her as best he could without sounding too crass or unprofessional. their professionalism was something he and she alike preferred to keep between them, though there would be no harm in them becoming friendly. a blush filled her cheeks almost instantly, the gunpowder mark on her cheek becoming even more noticeable then. she looks down at herself, looking to make sure she wasn't askew in any manner. she was not. her dress was this champagne gold shade, elaborate and gorgeous patterns within the fabric. it stopped just shy of the halfway mark of her thighs, and showed her arms though not her cleavage. her auburn hair is pulled back loosely in a hair tie, curls and bangs falling from it as if on purpose. "thanks, that's real nice of you t' say. have you tried any o' the food yet. it's real good, if ya ask me. then again, i'm a bit biased 'cause hannibal… er, doctor lecter let me help out some." starling rambled on, hoping she did not reveal too much about her relationship with lecter by letting herself slip up and use his first name. he, nor anyone else, seemed to notice. if he did, he did not seem to care. or so starling thought—for the time he remained silent. "I have… it's some good cooking starling. you and he do all this?" lips, full and modestly-painted, fell open then—almost as if she had been stunned by the question. thankfully, alana came towards them, giving her no chance to answer.

- excusing herself, she walked clear across the room to find the man whom watched her the entire time. the freckled woman could not help but to smile, taking his drink from him with a playfulness that she knew he was growing to adore. she took a lengthy sip before handing it back to him, humming blithely when she felt him brush back a bit of her hair. she could not help but to lean in to the touch, glad that no one was watching them. her fingers fiddled with one another as she sensed his hand go to that mark on her right cheek, a longing caress with his thumb. It was diminutive, but surely still visible all the same. a while passes before all the socializing guests manage to gather themselves into the dining room. there's a rather expansive table there, with just enough places for all the guests. alana, bedelia, and jack all seem to note the special attention hannibal pays clarice—holding out her chair for her, taking her hand as she sat. and the agent more than likes these little things, she appreciates them and admires them. hannibal knows there is a difference between proper etiquette and overprotecting. starling will not deny enjoying having someone who made her feel worth something, but there was a fine line between treating her as if she deserved the best and coddling. she was a woman not an invalid. once hannibal found his own place at the table, he smiled to all his guests. it was not your average smile, as one might note—but rather a micro-expression that radiated a menacing aura. "i would like to start this evening off with a toast—to clarice; for her courage, ambition and stubborn streak; and of course, for putting an end to _buffalo bill's _career heinous crimes." they all toasted and clarice seemed to be as embarrassed as she was obliged. she was never doing this for the glory, but to know that her work was appreciated meant a great deal to her. "and, i must add, that i am very thrilled to have all of you for dinner…"


	17. A Helping Hand

Title: A Helping Hand  
>Prompt Number:<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: unable to choose from her ever-growing selection of gowns, clarice starling finds herself seeking assistance from hannibal lecter before going to the opera. will he be able to pick something appropriate, or will the line of suitability be crossed?<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter;<br>**Word Count: 830+

-this evening was not unlike many of which clarice starling and hannibal lecter had in the past, a time of preparation to enjoy another one of the teatro colon's phenomenal shows. the much-ridiculed former agent sat at the vanity, looking at her monstrous lover through the mirror as she enjoyed not only a cigarette and a glass of wine, but the view as well. she could see lecter as he was getting dressed, those aging muscles of his gradually disappearing beneath a pristinely white shirt. slowly, she licked her lips. her cigarette becomes abandoned. about half an inch of ash forms before she realizes this and taps it off into the ashtray nearby. she does so blindly, enabling her to watch him just long enough to get caught. looking away, she feels a heat flood her cheek. she is blushing, her gunpowder mark and freckles enhanced in an equal measure.

-"you must get ready, clarice. timeliness is something i pride myself in. we would not want to be late, would we?" his voice resounds throughout the room as he walks towards her. she takes a drink, composing herself. she shakes her head, a silent response. she knows how much he hates tardiness. though, she is aware he does not detest it nearly as much as he does rudeness—it far more epidemic. managing to stand, she maneuvers towards the closet—wearing only her strapless bra and underwear. it has become apparent, their comfortableness around one another. blue hues, shining and attentive, scan along her collection of evening wear, wondering what to wear. "would you like a hand, clarice?" he says, breaking her focus from the gowns. a shrug follows as she looks over her shoulder. "maybe…" it is all she says, or can say.

-she is not one to admit she needs help, even for little things such as these. she turns back to the dresses, listening to lecter's footsteps—his stride as elegant as ever. he is quite the majestic monster. from behind her, he allows one arm to reach towards the clothing and the other to wrap around her torso. she knows he can feel her abdominal muscles quiver in response, for she hears the amused hum echo from his throat. "settle, clarice." he likes saying her name. he has liked it a long time—she is aware of this fact, as well. as she watches his fingers rifle through the numerous articles, she leans into him in a manner which increases their contact in all manners. "i'm settled." though, it's apparent she's not. something deep within her has been brought to the surface, a burning fire that started quite small as she watched him moments before but grew into a raging inferno at the very second of contact.

- "no," his accent bellows out, brushing against his lover's ear like a stroke of a brush against unmarked canvas. "you are not." he is right. they both know this to be true. it irks clarice in a way she cannot describe. "ng," she groans, the only response she can scrounge up. there is an hour until the opera starts. it is about a half-hour drive. she knows he likes to leave early in order to ensure they are there promptly, but perhaps she could convince him to reconsider…if only just for the evening. after all, both are quite good with the art of persuasion. "hush now," he purrs, grabbing a dress. "i think this one should suit the occasion," lecter adds, waiting for clarice to take it. before she does so, she makes a mental note of which one it was. once she did this, she put it back. turning in his embrace, she grinned—an unignorably malicious look in her eyes which seemed to merge harmoniously with lust. it's a hunger, he notes, of which only he could sate. swiftly, she takes his arm from around her form and flips them, shutting the closet door before shoving him into it.

- "clarice, we do not have time for this…" he warns, though he is not about to say no to her—not that he could. "i guess were goin' to have to make the time, then… besides i've got t' thank you for helpin' me out, don't i?" she asks seconds before attacking his neck. thankfully, he had not yet put on a tie—giving her more space to kiss along without worrying about a shirt collar. "you can do so by wearing the dress i chose for you, mia bella." he replies, eyes shut as he seamlessly switches into italian. grunting as she pulls back from his flesh, she takes him by the chin. it forces him to let his maroons come open. "i'll do it any damn way i please, thank you very much!" she says in a manner which seems like she is scolding him. it is only after that she notices the lipstick marks on his neck. it seems they would have to set aside even more time to ready themselves.


	18. Quieres Bailar?

Title: Quieres Bailar?  
>Prompt Number: 22<br>Requested By: Self-Prompted  
>Description: clarice and hannibal allow themselves some time to dance together on their balcony in argentina<br>Rating: T+  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>  
>Word Count: 970+<p>

-the air surrounding the former fbi agent is intoxicating. it smells like a heavenly mixture of spices from both their dinner and the meals others in the city had had, and sweet flowers which were growing just beneath the terrace. the sky above her is only just becoming black as the sun disappears behind the horizon. it is beautiful to say the least—so much so that it seems a bit unreal, even though she knows all too well it is. one hand finds itself grasping the balcony's banister loosely whilst the other is preoccupied with a glass of half-finished wine. lecter had insisted she not worry herself with the dishes, even though she was more than willing to help out. it was, however, comforting to know that their marriage was not accompanied by stereotypical ideals—he did not try to shove her into the roles of a conventional wife. he must have known how useless that would have been, if he would be so brazen as to even consider it. she often mowed the lawn, fixed their cars—anything like that. however, when it came to things such as dishes and over-all inner home care, hannibal was usually the one to tend to those matters. it was relieving and revealing all the same.

-once he returned from doing the dishes after their splendid meal consisting of a rather distasteful argentinian man, he seemed more than content to not join her on the verandah. rather, he stood at its entrance—staring at her in the pristine lighting. if deities were real, and they were amongst the humans, he believed that clarice starling was indeed worthy of being one. this was not only because of her aesthetic, but because of her persona as well. she had it all—brains, bronze, and beauty. she was, as most would put it, the total package. if someone were to say so about her, he would concur with no protest or hesitation. however, he would certainly have a more artistic way of expressing that.

-the moment she turned around, clarice saw lecter standing there. she had not heard him, though was not entirely surprised to see him standing there. she knew from past experience how much he enjoyed the act of watching her in the silence of the evenings they shared. it was a beautiful form of quiet of which clarice accepted with open arms, so to speak. her hand which was no longer on the railing then formed a fist before resting upon her hip. she was positively radiant in the candlelight—a deep blue dress covering her frame. it was approximately three shades from being royal blue, and went well with the diffident gold jewelry she wore. her auburn hair was pulled back somewhat, just enough so that strands could fall from it and frame her face perfectly. the slight amount of makeup which covered her face made her freckles a little more notable than usual, as well as that gunpowder mark along her cheek—though it did justice to her pale skin. she was a vision of authentic exquisiteness in his eyes. her beauty was not something easily summed up—though he knew it to be so.

-"hey," she greets, simplistic and true. "well, hello clarice . . ." he purrs, slowly licking his lips as he—for the umpteenth time in the last few moments—eyes her, coveting her as he always had. "you are a splendor, an absolute perfection!" he adds, always having a flare for dramatic expression. a breath of a laugh is expelled from the much-ridiculed former agent as she shakes her head, looking down to her shoes. just as she had supposed all those years ago, they had indeed caught up in regards to taste. "you keep sayin' shit like that, hannibal—i'm probably goin' to start believin' it." clarice has never been the best at taking compliments for what they truly were, even with lecter. there's a meager wince at her swearing, but he's grown to like it—always so smart-mouthed. "well, _agent starling_, is it not true that there is an expression 'seeing is believing.'? i do wonder if that might help you—standing in front of a mirror again. After all, hearing is not the same as seeing. when was the last time you really took a moment to admire your countenance? truly, clarice, tell me." she shrugs, never the type for vanity, even now. if everything was in its place, she did not see any reason to look any longer. "i don't know. . ." she is honest, she does not know.

-just as she begins wishing for something of a topic-diverter, tango music begins to play in the streets below. unlike some places in the world, it seemed there need not be an occasion to celebrate—thus the melodious sounds. for a moment, she glances over her shoulder to look into the street before returning her focus to lecter. she grins, almost frolicsome in her mannerisms. playing at a theatrical angle, starling holds out her hand to him. "quieres bailar?" she asks him in a teasing spanish bravado. "si, mi amor. si fuera posible bailar sin límites, lo haría contigo para siempre." the devilish creature responds with ease as he takes her hand before gently pulling her frame towards his own. at the moment of collision, clarice cannot help but to giggle—feeling almost foolish afterwards. only he could bring that form of laughter from her, in moments such as these. "te quiero, hannibal." she murmured. "te quiero, tambien. Tu eres mi mundo, mi leona pequeña." a slew of spanish flows effortlessly from the both as their bodies move together in harmony, speed changing with the tempo of the music. It was quite a beautiful evening, to say the least.


	19. A Form Of Repayment

Title: A Form of Repayment  
>Prompt Number: 23<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: Clarice Starling has been seeking the assistance of renowned psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter on her first case with the FBI. She decides to do something special in order to thank him.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>Jame "Buffalo Bill" Gumb  
>Word Count: 1100+<p>

-an '88 mustang pulls up to the residence of one hannibal lecter. from the car exits the bureau's new hero—or rather, heroine—clarice m. starling. however, she knows all too well that she would not be seen in such a light without the aid of the _good _doctor. of course, her newfound status is not why she is thankful. she is thankful because now the senator's daughter, catherine baker martin, is back home—safe and sound. of course, there is a part of her that is thankful buffalo bill is no longer able to terrorize more women, even if it means him being dead. to her, this is what was most important. she stuffs her car keys into her pocket, hands accompanying the pockets as she walks up to the door. a firm knock, a ringing of the doorbell, a shifting on her heels. she was so used to being the one asked out, that being on the other side of the situation was somewhat odd for her—even though it would not be a date in the way most would think, or at least that is what she thought at the time. as she waits, she fishes out the tickets from her purse. they're tickets to the opera. she does not know much about the particular show, in fact she knows nothing. nevertheless, she is aware lecter enjoys this scene quite a lot, and she could think of no better way to show him her appreciation that would not cross any lines of professionalism that had been, to her knowledge, established. when the door opened, she smiled to the much taller being as he stood before her. "hello, doctor lecter." she greets, a courteous nod following.

-for a moment, he simply stands there. he watches her, admires her. she is a divine creature. the moonlight in combination with the porch light does wonders for her features; ignites her freckles perfectly as well as the fresh gunpowder mark upon her cheek. he is tempted to reach over and touch it, caress it ever so slightly. he does not. somehow, he finds within himself the restraint necessary. he gives her a gracious smile, admittedly glad to see her again—to see that she was well after all that had happened. "agent starling, what a pleasant surprise! i was not expecting you would call on me again." he confesses, the red sparks in his maroon hues lighting up like fireworks. "i—uh—i hope i'm not botherin' you." she replies, retracting her bottom lip so that it was, for a moment, between her teeth. "oh, no, not at all. i was merely re-reading one of my favorite novels. i am actually quite glad to see you. would you like to come in?" he's charming in the way he speaks, which is primarily the reason why she cannot possibly say no to him. "sure!" she replies, accepting his invitation.

-being back in his home was slightly conflicting. on one hand, she was much obliged to be there. on the other, it made her apprehensive. after all, she was not there for the purposes of work. not anymore. "is there anything i can help you with? or might i be so bold as to offer you a seat and a glass of wine?" he questions. as he helped her on this case, he could not help but to wonder about her; namely, what it would be like to know her in a private life, without all those guards of professionalism she was surprisingly good at putting up. he believes it would be quite something. he wondered if she shared his sentiments. "ummmm… actually, i'm more a whiskey girl, myself. no offense. i'm sure your wine's real great." she remarked, taking a moment to look around the sitting room for a moment as she entered it with him. "none taken, clarice. may i call you clarice?" he asks her. she nods. "yeah, i don't see why not." a shrug precedes her taking a seat on the large, extravagant, and rather comfortable couch. "okie dokie, then, _clarice_. i'm sure i have whiskey, if that is what you would prefer." she silently thanks him, shrugging out of her denim jacket.

- fleetingly, lecter finds himself watching her, leering—pleased that she was dressed in such casual attire, a tank top revealed to him in her actions. it is not in the same manner of which most men would find it pleasing. it's not out of any form of objectification towards her, rather he finds it so because it gives him an opportunity to see more of her—like peeling back the layers of an onion, or peeking behind a curtain. he takes her in, commits her to his memory palace—she has her own room there, though she does not know this. afterwards, he goes to fill a tumbler of whiskey for her and a glass of rich red wine for himself. upon his return, he handed her the drink. "thanks," she responded, taking it from him before sipping from it. the alcohol burned, but she found herself loving it. "mm," she hums for a moment before recalling her purpose. he brings it up before she has the chance, however. "forgive me if this is inappropriate, clarice, but i could not help but to notice you seem to have something in your hand. may i ask what it is? is it your reason for your little visit, clarice?" it seems giving him permission to call her by her first name has made him unable to keep from saying it—as if it left a certain taste in his mouth, one he enjoyed. the flavor, should he put one to it, would most likely be honey.

- "oh, um, yeah—actually." a pause as she clear her throat. "so, i was, uh, wonderin' if i could take you to the opera tomorrow night. i, er. . . don't know what all types of operas you like, but i know you like 'em—you wan' t' go with me?" color lecter intrigued—was she, perchance, asking him out on a date? it seemed a refreshing change of pace. "i would love to, clarice. what is the occasion?" he leans forward in his seat a bit, a fractional tilt of his head. "there got t' be one?" she retorts wittily. "not at all. . . it would seem that there is one, though." she lets out a breath before eventually nodding. "okay, honestly…i wanted to thank you for all your help, call it a form of repayment or somethin'." the confession piques his interest even more. "it would be an honor to go with you, clarice." he smiles—a sinfulness merging with a moment of true contentment. "good! um, so it starts at eight, so i'm thinkin' maybe i come get you 'bout seven thirty?" her thin brows furrow in her questioning. "that sounds perfect." he replies calmly. "alright! i'll see you tomorrow night, then." she drinks from her whiskey, another hum falling from her lips. "it's a date." he adds, watching her—almost as if waiting for a reaction. "yeeee. . . yeah. it's a date."


	20. Gonna Get Caught

Title: Gonna Get Caught  
>Prompt Number: 29<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: clarice starling and hannibal lecter find themselves in a rather compromising position when their little rendezvous at the bureau is interrupted by will graham<br>Rating: M  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; Will Graham <strong>  
>Word Count: 1100+<p>

-an office within the bureau – abandoned. small yet skillful hands hastily undo the trousers of a monster disguised as a man. agent starling knows this is all too risky, but isn't that what makes the encounter all the more enticing? there's a threat of getting caught, she knows. however, she does not put as much stock into it as she probably should. a content yet yet malicious hum falls from her lips before they meet lecter's in a feverish manner. She feels his need, carnal and erotic, as she shoves him back onto the desk. it's not enough to disturb anything upon it, but that means absolutely nothing. she's a dominant creature, clarice, nearly impossible to control but loving the fact that she has it. one hand finds itself at home in the cannibal's pants. the other is firmly wrapped around his throat. when he tries to increase their contact by any means he can scrounge up, she shakes her head. a playfulness that's come about her is all too unmistakable.

-"ah, ah . . . no." she chastises in a firm voice, ceasing all forms of pleasure but only for a moment. her hand moving slower than before. his hands then return to her, feeling her form through her clothing. she can tell she's awakened something within him, something all too obscure and volatile. she is aware that she is the only one who can do this and live to tell the tale afterwards. this fact and the one prior to it are all too arousing. pulling back from him, she locks eyes with him – fire-filled blues locking with hellish maroons. a smirk, temporary but telling, plays at her hungry lips. another kiss, then another. a third. a fourth – hands still occupying themselves with numerous body parts. clothing finds the floor, various locations littered with the articles. reverberations of various things being shoved off the desk, grunts and poetry of love oh so lascivious. it all comes from the same place, but – unlike with typhoid and swans – there is nothing godly about it.

-the wooden furniture is certainly not the most comfortable of places for their rendezvous. neither was the floor. the wall seemed a bit better, mostly because it was a place they were used to—but neither party complained. as their bodies collide with their passion, starling grasps at his back, at his hair, his neck, even at the wall—at anything and everything within arm's reach as she tries valiantly not to scream out, to suppress those sounds wanting so desperately to bellow out of the small-statured agent—fire, tainted and hot, consuming them both. they are so immensely lost within one another that they fail to realize that the empathic investigator by the name of will graham was merely feet from this office they occupied, and that the walls were not as thick as they had been perceived to be.

-her release, like those which came before it, was absolutely exhilarating—made even better due to it being reciprocated by her fiendish lover. her hands are on separate spot on his back, nails digging deep into his flesh. they slowly drag downward as she steadily comes down from the high he supplied her with. panted breaths fill the space, feeling him pull out. after a moment, she lets her hands go to his shoulders—resting there just as her forehead did against his own. "you're fuckin' fantastic, y' know that?" she speaks between inhalations. he lets a soft, brief laugh permeate his façade, a sliver of humanity coming to the surface of a creature unidentifiable in a sense that there was simply no name for what he was. it was a talent starling had that no other had shown him, bringing out something good within him all the while still accepting the horridness of his reality. he did not have to lie to her. he did not have to put on a front. even better, he's determined that he would not have to kill her. "i believe that you clearly outdo me, clarice. however, you are quite loud, my dear. i afraid you are going to get us caught…" he retorts. her eyes narrow in a glare. "oh, shut the fuck up…" she snarls. hannibal smirks devilishly, one of his hands resting along her waist. the other finds itself entangled in one of his many enchantments which starling possessed—her locks which seem to be comparable to a never-ending spark, an eternal flame just as was his desires for her.

-once he's certain he has her distracted, he let that other hand of his slip ever-so-slowly down to the expanse between her legs. his fingertips are so delicate along her skin that she would not notice his actions until he applied the perfect amount of pressure upon her clit. he already has an inclination for the human form. now, he has a familiarity with clarice's. he knows exactly what makes it tick, exactly where to touch, how to touch, what she can take, and what she cannot. these are gems of information he finds are vital. he keeps them stored in an easily-accessible room within his memory palace. her responses to his touch are nothing if not enthralling, captivating, and want-inducing. if he had to admit to it, he would definitely say that no other lover he had had before truly gave him such satisfaction. he has, is, and would always revel in that.

-starling, however, seems to find a form of frustration in this almost torturous act. the application of pressure with no further titillation is excruciating. she can feel her body tremble, partially from the previous orgasm and partially from the potentially impending occurrence of another. a whimper as she bites her bottom lip. she loves this, and loathes it all the same. so used to control, to having it and holding it as it were reigns—it was strange to have someone tempt her into retaliation by trying to steer the horse for themselves. he was always challenging her—would she accept this one? oh yes, she would. or, at least, she would if she could—unfortunately, a mishap in their little scheme's execution leads them into a rather cumbersome situation. the dilemma? it seemed in their haste, clarice forgot to lock the door—therefore allowing a rather disgruntled and concerned will graham to barge in—almost instantaneously seeing his former psychiatrist and his current colleague naked together. turning away, the discomfiture in the air is tangible. he clears his throat. "okay… so, i don't know if either of you know this, but it's kind of a bad idea to be so damn loud if you don't want anyone to know you're in here fucking. i could hear you down the hall. seriously, are you screwing each other or killing each other?" he already has a problem with socialization, but this is so much worse. "i'm going to leave now, and starling—jack wants your case report on his desk by 0900 tomorrow morning." with that, he leaves—uncomfortable for various reasons. god, how he could use some quality phone time with molly.


	21. Check Mate

Title: Check Mate  
>Prompt Number: 33<br>Requested By: Self Prompted  
>Description: Clarice and Hannibal have a relaxing evening together, sitting on the balcony to enjoy a little game of chess. The question is, who will win?<br>Rating: PG  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter;<br>**Word Count: 790

-in the distance, the sound of a ticking clock fills the otherwise silent area of the mansion. there is a backless couch on the balcony, upon it a wooden board with alternating black and white squares. it, for the time being, functions as a chess board. on the north-facing side, an appropriate amount of black chess pieces are set up. on the south, the pieces are white. lecter is seated on the north, starling on the south. there's a gentle argentinian breeze which causes red locks to blow in an opposing direct to how they fell naturally in that instant. it carries her scent towards the doctor. the aroma of l'air du temps is almost enough to distract him from the task at hand, almost. slowly, he licks his full lips—cautious and tactical as he raises a hand to pick up a chess piece. he moves it in a diagonal direction from how it was orientated before setting it aside and hitting the timer with much tact. "check," he speaks, accent thick in the word—as solitary as it was.

-a grin forms across her maws in that moment, one of which lecter finds quite pleasing. she's scheming, it seems. teeth, sharp and white, clamp down onto a modesty painted bottom lip as her features contort in her concentration. after a long passing of time, she makes her move. she takes one of his pieces, sets it aside, and hits the timer—more hastily than lecter had. he moves another piece, taking one of hers. that made five for him, and six for her. she was winning, and getting closer to an overall victory. he realized if he was not careful, she could have him in two moves. she takes her turn, then, moving a pawn but not quite able to take anything from him—nor did the move bring her any form of success other than opening up her knight for a perfect maneuver. she just hoped that lecter would slip up, make a wrong move. it was absurd to think he would, but wishful thinking in this case was harmless. after all, it was just a game—a way to while away some free time. slightly, she leaned forward—this act calling attention to her breasts, which were noticeable given her low-cut tank top.

-lecter caught her doing this, eyeing her physique for a moment—not letting it preoccupy him for too terribly long. he did, however, make a note to himself. he just had to ask her to let him draw her out here someday, with the sun on her superlatively pale and freckled flesh. he would show her his gratitude afterwards, no doubt. the thought alone made him slightly aroused, though now was not the time to let such things overtake oneself. he had a game to focus on. clearing his throat, he made his move—getting just a little closer to victory, himself. this could very well become an intense game. though, it's not a surprising revelation for either of them—knowing their adversary was worthy and intellectual, to say the least. starling makes her move, smiling brightly as she hits the timer. "check!" she exclaims. he can tell she's being quite smug, and she has good reason to be. one move and she would have him. "you prepared to lay down y'r king, or you goin' to try clingin' on t' hope you might win?" she questions him, playfully cruel in her taunting. she wagged a thin brow at him as she spoke.

- "i do not believe i will be giving up just yet, clarice." he replies, calmly—coolly. tapping the side of the board, he gave a few moments of thought before moving another piece. starling then lets out a boisterous laugh for a moment before picking up her knight and bringing over to his king, tapping it a few times before knocking it over. all the while, she's teasing him in a sing-song voice. "na-na-na-na; na-na-na-na, hey, hey, hey goodbye!" when the king falls down to the ground, she laughs again before eventually pushing aside the whole board. thankfully, none of the pieces roll of the balcony as they hit its surface. he is displeased by the mess, though she has no qualms about it. "I win! what's my prize?" she sounds like an eager child, adorable almost. "whatever you wish it to be," he speaks softly, maroon hues refusing to go to the mess his lover had made. "ooh, i know—" she purrs before grasping him by the nape of his neck, kissing him vehemently. after a while, she manages to pull herself away from him; panting breaths heavily. "so, what do ya say we play again, hmm?"


	22. Unsent Affections

Title: Unsent Affections  
>Prompt Number: 2<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: Clarice is going through papers around the Starling-Lecter home, and when she gets to Hannibal's office, she finds some letters he wrote for her that he never gave to her.<br>Rating: PG  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>  
>Word Count: 1000+<p>

-it was a day like any other in the buenos aires mansion, relaxed and beautiful. clarice was not one known for her organization skills as a whole. however with lecter at work at the university, teaching, she wanted to take the opportunity to do something nice for him. she managed to straighten out most of the residence, but was left with one room—his office. now, clarice is generally not a snoop, never enjoyed invading anyone's privacy without probable cause, as it would be referred to during her days in law enforcement. that did not mean the room was considered off limits to her. in fact, she had been in there many times. like all those prior occasions, walking in felt nice. it felt like being let into lecter even more so than she had been before.

-the study, as hannibal would commonly refer to it as, was immaculate. everything had its place and nothing was disheveled. in fact, not even a speck of dust could be found. it was easily the cleanest room in the home, second to the kitchen and the secret room beneath it in which they would slice and dice their meat. this did not keep her from advancing further into it, checking to be sure of things being where they were the last time she had been inside. for all intents and purposes, they were. this led her to taking a seat in the chair behind his desk. it was quite a large chair, almost as if it were a throne—though no one saw the cannibalistic creature as a king. no one except for maybe the woman herself. surely, if argentina was a country of royalty their home would be a castle. lecter did have a way of making her feel as though she were a queen—a divine deity. in the chair, she could pull her legs up into it, knees to her chest, and still not fill all the space within it. what a tiny warrior she was. what a gargantuan monster he was.

-fingertips go from her shins to the top of the desk. swiveling in the chair, she let them dance along the surface, meandering eventually to the middle drawer. did she dare open it? yes. licking her lips, she noting many materials for writing and drawing. blue hues glance up to take note of his sketches which were on a lengthy table on the other side of the room—neat and well-crafted. some were innocent recreations of memories, some even were of herself—however, beneath those she knew of the macabre nature some of them depicted. they were almost like architectural blueprints—only these were not for buildings. oh no, they were far more sickening—tableaus for crimes, past ones and future ones alike. it was not something she would readily admit to anyone but the artist, but she enjoyed them. they were unique, and desirable—but for reasons more ghastly than anyone could possibly fathom. those cheap birthstone eyes then return to the drawer, rifling through it in a manner which would not disturb the contents permanently. it is then and only then when something peculiar grabs her attention. in the far back of the compartment, she notices a folded sheet of paper. starling cannot help but to question what it was doing there. biting her bottom lip, she contemplated taking it-unfurling it—reading it. what a sinful little thing to do. she does it.

-it is a letter—addressed to her, she realizes. why hadn't he given it to her? was it something bad? was it something written which had been preemptive? she could not know for certain without reading it. actually, it was not bad—nor was it something saved for the future. it was a letter hannibal had written for her whilst he had been drunk one night. perhaps he thought its words were less the superlative, qualitatively horrid. she doubted it would be, so she read it.

-_dearest clarice,  
>you are the light which guides me in this world, you are nothing if not a vision of perfection in its purest form. with you, there are no flaws, no mistakes which outweigh any of the positive qualities at which you possess. if indeed i am a monster capable of loving, i would only ever have room to love you. however, i must confess i believe you are a being worth more than just love. you are a superb goddess, a lioness with wings charred by the rage-fueled fire in your heart—you drip with blood and honey and all things truly glorious. i must thank god for bringing you into this world, for creating such a divine little thing. many years ago, i came to the realization that you would be quite important to me—in a way at which i still do not understand. you are. you mean so much to me, clarice m. starling. i am undeserving of such a beautifully brave being such as yourself. i am glad that you have kept me in your thoughts, in your heart, and in your arms as long as you have. for you, i would give you world and more than the world, i would give you every star in the sky, every planet, galaxy i could, should you desire that, and it still would not feel as though i had given you enough. my thoughts, opinions, of you are unquantifiable, to put it simply. i adore you. i cherish you. i am so grateful for you. i do hope, truly, my little starling, you feel the same. <em>

_-H _

-she could tell in the manner of which he wrote that he might have been intoxicated at the time, but it did not take away from the beauty of the words on the page. her eyes stung, but she did not cry. she smiled so vehemently her cheeks began to hurt. her fingers caress the page for the longest time before she finally folded the paper again, and put it back in its place. she debated whether or not to let him in on the fact she had read the letter once he got home. after all, there was no room for lies in their complex and twisted relationship. she decided she would tell him, but not in an obvious manner. she would say she adored him, she cherished him, and that she was so grateful for him. she was—she truly felt the same.


	23. Lessons

Title: Lessons  
>Prompt Number: 34<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: Hannibal is someone who is quite inclined, musically. When Clarice expresses her desire to learn how to play guitar, he takes it upon himself to teach her.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter <strong>  
>Word Count: 1000+<p>

-in his time on earth, doctor lecter had learned how to do many things. playing instruments was one of his skills, known for his fondness towards piano, harpsichord, and even the lute. while instruments such as these were not ones which crafted carnage or rather carnivorous meals, they created beautiful tunes regardless of whether or not he was a bit rusty. one instrument he knew how to play had caught the attention of his beloved accomplice and wife, clarice m. starling. it was true the rest of argentina did not know either of them by their true names, thought them simply to be rather smart and sophisticated foreigners, they knew who and what they were truly—and it stayed that way within the walls of their gorgeous mansion home. the instrument had been the guitar. he could imagine this stemmed from her southern mountain upbringing and fondness for eighties rock and roll music, though he did not question it.

-the day before, the cannibal had taken it upon himself to purchase her a guitar. it was a marvelous shade, the cherry wood complimenting her in a manner. he could not help his sheer enjoyment at watching how her face lit up at the sight of it. she looked as though she were a child on christmas day, opening a present she wanted so badly but believed she would never receive. he surmised her reaction was the way it was for the simple fact that she came from a poverty-stricken background and while her family had done the best they could with what they had, they had not had the same financial luxuries as he did. getting her this made him content in a manner he could not quantify, should he even want to do such a thing.

-as she held the guitar, clarice had the brightest of smiles upon her face. she allowed one hand to caress the surface of it, feeling it—memorizing that feeling. she held it close to herself, hands in their respective spots as she did so. he would teach her the basics, of course—then let her choose a song, and teach it to her. he had purchased a rather large book filled with sheet music for several classic rock songs. some of the titles and bands he had recognized from her various occasions of listening to it. just as he could not control what came out of the chrysalis which formed the clarice starling before him, he could not control her likes and dislikes. he could teach her to appreciate his music preferences, but he could not rid of her own. perhaps she would request to learn something by the who, or pink floyd, maybe even grateful dead, or david bowie. he mused about what she would decide to the point where he became enamored. after a while, he advanced towards her—sitting behind her rather serenely. he gently brushed back her hair so that it cascaded down her left shoulder, placing her hands in the correct positions.

-"there you go, clarice." he whispered against the flesh just beneath her ear. he knew from her identification of the cross bow that she was good with notes, and would figure this out rather quickly. what a quick study she was. she strummed, finding the sound rather pleasing to her ear. her eyes slipped shut as he moved her hand along the guitar, placing her digits in the precise position to strum a different note. again and again, he did this. soon, he was able to remove his hands as she played the chords all on her own. he was rather proud, and pleased. mostly, because, now the home they shared would be filled with music played by someone who was not himself. perhaps someday he would arrive home from his job at the university to hear her playing that very guitar, a song she would have taught herself how to play. "i love this," she murmured, fingers dancing along the strings with ease.

-"i am glad you are so pleased, mi amor." he murmured against her neck, kissing her there briefly. she hummed, all the while her fingers still moving. "mm, do you want t' keep teachin' me, or would you rather entertain me in other ways?" she questioned him playfully. the words left him breathing a brief laugh against her flesh. the taste of it was something he cherished always, especially as it would linger on his lips long after he had moved them away. his chin found itself perched in the same place he had been kissing. she felt so warm against him, a sensation which pleased him. "oh, if i could have the pleasure of entertaining you in every way possible, i would do so in a heartbeat, clarice." a pause, not pregnant though lengthy in its own right. "however, if there is a song in that book you would like to learn, i would be more than content with teaching it to you first."

-she grins gently as she opens the book, looking over the table of contents. her lips then pursed inwardly, eyes sparkling in the sunlight as she read some familiar titles. some stuck out, like 'all my love' by led zeppelin, 'the sound of silence' by simon and garfunkel, but one especially stood out; 'wild horses' by the rolling stones. she pointed to it, and he was amused. "ah, yes. a good choice, no doubt." he remarks. "i believe i have heard you listen to it before. am i recalling correctly, clarice?" the question follows him raking a hand through his greying hair. "yeah, you're right. i love that song. you goin' to teach me it?" she looks over her shoulder to him, eyes pleading with him in a manner. "of course. whatever you wish to learn from me, clarice, i will gladly teach you." with that, he began to guide her through the song—after a while, moving so that he could be seating before her—watching her as she played. not only was she a quick study, but she was gifted with the instrument. it almost made him giddy in a sense. this was a feeling, like all the others he experienced with her, that he did not want to let go of, for fear of never be able to have it again. after all, monsters were not supposed to feel as humans are. they were creatures incapable of such things, or so he believed until he met the fiery hurricane of a woman perched before him.


	24. Workaholic

Title: Workaholic  
>Prompt Number: 32<br>Requested By: Anonymous  
>Description: while busily working on a case, the ambitious and pregnant fbi agent clarice starling cannot bring herself to stop working long enough to rest. this leads hannibal to worry about her well-being.<br>Rating: T  
>Characters Mentioned: <strong>Clarice Starling; Hannibal Lecter; <strong>Jack Crawford; Will Graham  
>Word Count: 1200+<p>

-she sits before her laptop, the room in her and lecter's home darkened—though not entirely. there's a source of light besides the technology which comes in from the open door. out of her work clothes, she wears a grey sweatshirt which appears at least two or three sizes too big for her—there's reason for this. her fingers work quickly as she types. there's a staggering amount of files and papers surrounding her, a mess made no doubt. her facial features are contorted in her concentration. she's so close to a break on this case, she can taste it. after all, starling was indeed an ambitious, hustling little rube. that is what lecter had called her over a year ago when they had met when she was assigned to the buffalo bill case right out of the academy. now, she's got a new one—someone even worse than jame gumb. biting her bottom lip, she groans slightly. the eighties' rock music which emanates from the computer along with her profound focus leaves her unable to notice lecter's presence as he enters the room.

-he has a prominent fondness for watching her, whether it be whilst she sleeps, whilst she eats, and even now whilst she works. he leans against the doorway, maroon hues focused on every detail of her. part of him was captivated. part of him was concerned. she had been working all day, only to come home to more work. in his mind, he muses over the expression 'all work and no play'. he lets his tongue dart out between two full lips for a brief while before stepping into the room even further. there's a fractional head tilt he presents as he continues to observe his little starling in what has become her natural habitat. the songs she listens to change. it is not anything he would prefer listening to, but it does not mean he does not value it for what it is—a part of her, a little piece of the puzzle that is the young agent. "clarice. . ." he speaks softly to her, accent thick and soothing in the air. momentarily, she looks up and pauses the music on her itunes. like notes on a harpsichord, the song did not carry once it ceased. the sudden silence in the room is not unwelcomed, however. it does not last too terribly long.

-"oh, hey, hannibal. . ." she greets him, managing a smile. starling cocks her head a bit, tempted to shut the laptop and stand—however, she's finding it difficult, the act of moving from the floor, lately. "how are ya?" the question is accentuated and sweetly southern. hannibal finds this odd sense of amusement that only clarice can bring out of him, amused by how simplistic she could be at times. he once tried to correct this, but found her response so absolutely profound that he rarely would ever attempt to do so again. "i am well, clarice. i do not believe the same can be said for you, though. you look rather stressed." he notes, his observation honest though perhaps a bit biased. "no more so than usual, i guess. this case is really kickin' my ass, and mr. crawford is bein' a prick 'bout it. i don't think he was ever like this with mr. graham. empath or not, it seems a bit unfair." her face scrunches in her annoyance. lecter finds this humorous—something indescribable to him, he cannot quite find words for. cute, it is cute to him. a lot of things about her are, surprisingly enough or not.

- "ah, yes. . . will, a remarkable boy. . ." he muses, like picasso over his painting. too bad for the artwork that the fbi could not prove the artist was indeed him. they mistakenly believed that the red dragon acted of his own volition. thankfully, the cannibal was able to go on creating—piece after piece, a new muse to inspire him—a beautiful winged lioness dripping with fire and blood and honey all the same. "i cannot help but to note government establishments and their low regard for female employees. it seems they believe them to be incompetent, even in this point in time. they would like us to think that things are improving, but somehow it is not as much as one might believe. i for one know women are more superb, spectacular creatures than men. . .especially you, clarice." his prose while he speaks to her always seem to end up in the same place, a compliment specifically for her. she likes this, a lot. it makes her smile, a lot. a soft laugh, a blush of her cheeks—the gunpowder mark highlighted. "well, thanks." she replies, candid to a fault. she watches as he approaches her, crouching down to her. gently, he shuts the laptop—the room instantaneously becoming darker. his eyes seem even more monstrous in the low lighting, as do the rest of his features. starling notes this, though finds no reason for fear. "you really ought to take a break. you are making me rather worrisome." he admits. it's not something he is readily willing to say to just anyone, but with her he feels able to let the words come out—for reasons unfathomable, even to himself.

-she's quite cavalier in her response, shrugging. "you don't got any reason to worry 'bout me, though. you know me, i can hold my own just fine." he nods, knowing this to be true. under any other circumstances, he would not worry about her. now he is much like a mother hen in that he feels an innate need to protect clarice and their children which grow inside her, developing anatomical features which would be random combinations of them both. he cannot keep himself from hoping that they would retain shocking likenesses to her, as opposed to the monster he believed he was. "i know, but i fear i am unable to help myself. are you hungry? you have not eaten since you got home." she gives way to meaningful pondering then, but her body answers for her—a growling of her stomach just at the mention of food. "yeah, i'm starvin'. . ." she confesses. "you got anythin' planned or. . .? i mean I could make somethin', if you don't. i do want to get this finished though, i'm so close to figuring it out, hannibal. i can fuckin' feel it in my bones," she looks to him, eyes pleading with him. usually, she would be able to convince him of anything with those cerulean blues, but not then. she needed a break, no matter how close she was. "you are quite the busy little bird, clarice. i understand your sentiment, i do. i merely cannot share it, especially measured against the need to take care of yourself. after all, if you do not tend to your needs, how will you be able to tend to the needs of the victims?" he makes a valid point, she cannot deny it—even if she tried. as he offers out his hands courteously, she takes them and allows him to help her to her feet. once she is steady, she reaches up to caress his cheek before kissing him softly. it is then and only then that the workaholic warrior allows him to lead the way to the kitchen, so that they might eat.


End file.
